Enfoldment
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: In the aftermath of the explosion, Tony and Ziva come to realizations, are faced with choices, and must deal with the consequences of their decisions. Post-9x24. Tiva with team focus.
1. Chapter 1

_For what is love itself, for the one we love best? - an enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love. _-George Eliot

The ground doesn't feel completely stable under his feet, and there is a faint ringing in his ears. Too much noise today- the screech of the elevator, the wail of the sirens, the shouts of the rescue workers- and his headache isn't helping matters.

He stands in front of the coffee station, a cup in his hand. The act of filling it seems so hard; it's not something simple that he's done a million times before, because he is no longer in the world where that occurred. Today, he has been catapulted to another world, an upside down one.

And in an upside down world, he cannot possibly expect to caffeinate as if it's just another day.

A hand appears from nowhere and closes around the handle of the coffee pot, startling him. He feels the cup being taken from him and watches numbly as it is filled and held before his eyes. It hovers there.

"No lids here, apparently," Gibbs says gruffly.

Tony swallows hard and reaches up. His hand quivers, but he still manages to take the coffee from Gibbs without spilling any. "Thanks, Boss," he says, and is surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds. And then it occurs to him that he hasn't spoken in a good two hours, not since Ziva was whisked into surgery- up to that point, he had been chattering nervously, trying to distract her from the physical pain and himself from the mental. Once she was gone, he retreated into himself and did his best to block out all his surroundings.

Now he is wondering how she is doing, and he doesn't want to do that. He isn't sure he can handle the possibilities right now. His hand begins to shake a little harder, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the cup; Gibbs snatches it from him. "Alright," he says, taking a gulp himself. "Maybe later."

The two men stand in silence. Tony rubs the back of his neck, which is sore from where he hit it on the elevator wall, and tries not to think about Ziva's weight on him, how she took the brunt of the falling debris even as he covered her head with his arms. It causes a little flame to ignite in his chest, and it isn't pleasant; he quickly extinguishes it, takes a breath. _Speak._ "Where's Abby?"

"Wouldn't leave the waiting room."

"McGee's still in surgery?"

"They both are," Gibbs says in an exhausted tone that catches Tony off guard. He has never heard his boss sounding so defeated and tired and just plain _old_ before; in a way, hearing this is the worst thing that has happened today.

Experiencing this weakened version of Gibbs gives him just enough strength to snap out of his stupor and be the senior field agent. "Anything I should do, Boss?"

Gibbs surprises him by shoving the coffee into his hand; he barely manages to hang on to it. "Your team needs you. Stay with them."

0000000000

Abby paces and sits down and stands up and grabs magazines and talks and cries. She moves from action to action with astonishing speed; Tony finds himself guzzling the coffee because watching her is making him even more exhausted. Despite the constant stimuli, it's kind of lonely with half of their group missing. It doesn't feel right.

"So what was wrong with Ziva?" she asks, ripping a dog food ad from a magazine and pocketing it. "Was she conscious?"

He is pretty sure they've gone over this before, but Abby has herself all wound up and she is probably trying not to think about McGee, who is in much worse shape. "Barely. She fell on top of me in the elevator, so she got the worst of the debris. A jagged piece of metal sliced through her shoulder and got stuck in there; that was the biggest problem, I think."

The proof of these injuries resides on him. The metal was too deep for him to get out, so he used his suit jacket to slow the bleeding while they were in the elevator. Now, he is left in slacks and his white shirt- somewhere along the way, the jacket disappeared- and both are spotted with Ziva's blood.

It's another reminder, besides the fact that he's currently sitting in a hospital waiting room, that he failed to protect his partner… again.

"She'll be okay," Abby says with forced cheerfulness. "She's better off than…"

Tony doesn't miss the way she winces as she trails off; he quickly makes an attempt to distract her from McGee. "Have you talked to Ducky and Palmer?"

Lifting her hands to her mouth, she gasps. "Tony! I completely forgot about them! What if they already found out from the news? Wouldn't that be awful? I gotta go find Gibbs!"

Before he can protest, she is dashing out of the waiting room, and suddenly there is nothing to keep his thoughts in check, nothing to keep him from remembering Ziva gasping in pain as blood pooled on the floor beneath her. He squeezes his eyes shut, presses the heels of his hands into them, but it doesn't block out the image of her own eyes. For the entire time he was trying to control the bleeding in her shoulder, she had looked up at him like a helpless, dependent child.

In reality, Ziva is far from helpless and dependent, but it doesn't change the fact that they are partners. They are supposed to have each other's backs.

He has to stop letting her down.

0000000000

Despite drinking half a cup of black coffee, Tony falls asleep at some point. It is a restless slumber; his dreams are invaded by his teammates and the sounds around him, and even a loud nurse from earlier makes an appearance. Once, he pries his eyes open, convinced Gibbs is barking his name, but neither Gibbs nor Abby has returned, and his head lolls back onto the armrest of his chair.

The next time he hears his name, it is a much softer, "Agent DiNozzo?" Since nobody he works with speaks that nicely to him, he figures it's a random voice in the dream. But then a tap on his shoulder works its way into his consciousness, and he jerks awake.

"Huh?" he asks dumbly.

A nurse in blue and yellow polka-dotted scrubs stands over him. "Agent David is out of surgery."

Tony is up in a flash, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "How is she?"

"She lost a lot of blood while trapped, but we were able to repair her shoulder and restore her blood supply The operation went very well."

"What about McGee?"

The nurse sighs and glances away. "His operation is going to take a bit longer."

"Will he be okay?"

He is very glad Abby isn't here to witness the nurse saying, "Right now, we're unsure about the severity of his injuries."

_Ziva's fine. McGee might be… will probably be fine,_ he reassures himself, and releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Can I see Ziva?"

She says that Ziva's anesthesia won't wear off for a while, but gives him the room number anyway. Tony sets off, realizing halfway down the hallway that he forgot his coffee, but he doesn't turn back. It is surely cold by now, and he doesn't need it, anyway. What he needs is to see his partner.

Outside the door, he pauses, unsure of what to expect, then forces himself to enter the room. One shoulder of her hospital gown has been cut open to accommodate for the bandage there, and the lower part of her arm is in a sling. There is an IV in her other arm and a machine is beeping and pieces of hair are falling from her ponytail but, actually, she doesn't look bad.

Better than in the elevator, anyway.

Now that he's here, he doesn't know what to do. For several minutes he stands with his hands in his pockets, watching her sleep so deeply that she isn't even snoring. Eventually he drags a chair to her bedside and sinks into it. It is quiet. When was the last time a room occupied by him and Ziva was _quiet_?

"So," he says, feeling pressured to break the silence. "Weird day, huh?"

Even to him, it sounds stupid. He tries again. "You kinda scared me there. But what else is new? Scaring me is practically your hobby." There is no indication that she heard him or is awakening. Tony reaches for her hand, which is warm, and whispers, "Glad you're okay."

**Well, I have finally strayed from oneshots and drabbles and entered the world of NCIS longfic. Probably looking at 15-20 chapters here. I hope to post it all before the premiere on September 25****th****, but we shall see!**

**Thanks for reading so far- review, please?**


	2. Chapter 2

"Tony."

He spins, startled, and sees that Gibbs has entered the room without his noticing. A greeting dies on his lips when he takes in the older man's grim expression. "Boss?"

Gibbs turns to leave, motioning for him to follow. Tony gently sets Ziva's hand down on the bed and hurries toward the door. The hallway is empty; a glance out a window reveals that the sun is low in the sky. He hadn't realized it was so late.

"Listen," Gibbs says. Whatever he's about to say, it isn't good, and Tony braces himself for bad news about McGee. "I just got off the phone with Palmer. Ducky had a heart attack."

For several seconds, he stares, dumbfounded. It never occurred to him to worry about the members of their team who were nine hundred miles away from the bomb. _Why would it?_

Something breaks inside of Tony, something that has been waiting to break all day. Before he realizes what's happening, adrenaline is surging through his veins and his fist is flying toward the wall.

And then there is Gibbs, catching his wrist just before impact. "Cool it."

"Cool it?" he asks incredulously. "That makes a whole lot of-"

"You break your hand doing something stupid, you're just creating more problems," Gibbs says simply, and lets go of him.

Tony turns away, breathes heavily, wonders how his boss can be so calm and rational when the world has literally caved in around them. The steady beep of the heart monitor hooked up to his partner drifts into the hallway. She is alive. Despite his failing to keep her safe, she is fine.

As long as that is true, he has reason enough to keep his head on straight.

"So will Ducky be okay?" he finally asks in a carefully controlled voice.

"Palmer hadn't heard yet. I gotta get back to Abby; she's upset. I'll keep you posted." Gibbs lays a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder and meets his eyes. "Don't let this bastard get to you, DiNozzo."

"I'll try, Boss."

"When we figure out our next move, I'll let you know. Until you hear otherwise, your priority is your teammates. Got it?"

He nods solemnly. "'Course."

0000000000

For the rest of the evening, Tony is in Ziva's room. Sometimes he paces and sometimes he simply watches her sleep and sometimes he has to stand in the corner while nurses check on her vitals. It's all very uneventful, except for when Abby rushes in to deliver two pieces of good news: Ducky is going to be fine, and so is McGee. Tony accepts her enthusiastic hug, closing his eyes against the force of his own relief, and proceeds to listen as she talks to Ziva for no less than five minutes. She asks, "Do you remember when we told that guy we were lesbians so he'd leave us alone?" and says, "It's a really, really good thing Tony was with you," and urges her to wake up soon.

Then she turns to Tony and says, "Are you staying here overnight?"

It takes him a second to realize that he is being addressed; he is busy wondering why, even though he did act fast once Ziva got hit, he hadn't done more to shield her from the debris. "Yeah."

"Then I will too," she says with finality, holding up a hand when he opens his mouth. "You're staying with Ziva, so I'm going to stay with McGee."

Tony furrows his brow. "I'm staying here for both of them."

"I know you are." Abby gives him a knowing look on her way out the door. "Technically."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demands, but she has already left.

0000000000

Once, a couple months ago, he got a glimpse of what could be.

It had been a complete accident, only occurring because Tony was distracted by picking out a movie for them to watch when Ziva called from his kitchen, "Where is the bread?"

"Cabinet above the toaster, babe."

The apartment fell silent, and he, realizing what he had said, noted with a sinking stomach that no cabinet door was being opened.

_Why the hell don't you think? _he scolded himself, rubbing his forehead. He had never called her that before, never addressed her with _any_ term of endearment in that tone of voice. "Ninja" was used affectionately, "sweet cheeks" teasingly, and it would not be unreasonable to label the way he said "sweetheart" as condescending. But "babe"… it had sounded domestic, a casual word with a commitment behind it. It was as if he knew that she would be asking where the bread was today and tomorrow and every day after that.

There were days when he allowed himself to fantasize about the desires he dared not voice. He imagined what it would be like to wake up beside her, to come home and kiss her at the end of the day, to unwind together over dinner. In reality, they were partners and each other's closest friend; there was nothing domestic about them, no matter what he found himself wishing for. That was why him calling her "babe", and the fact that it almost felt _natural_, didn't make any sense.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard Ziva taking a loaf of bread from the cabinet, and a moment later, she appeared in the doorway. She wore her tight _let's forget this happened _smile, the one he saw whenever one of them pushed too far into unfamiliar territory. "Would you like a sandwich?"

The feeling of domesticity returned, just for a split second, and Tony decided that he wanted to hold onto it. "No thanks." He plucked _Casino Royale _from the shelf. "I'm ready as soon as you are."

0000000000

This is the memory at the forefront of Tony's mind after Abby leaves. He isn't exactly sure why. Maybe it's what she said or maybe it's just that he and Ziva went through a lot together today; all he knows is that as he holds Ziva's hand and makes one-sided conversation, he occasionally finds his lips poised to let that word slip out once again.

Footsteps approach, causing him to trail off in the middle of a narration about his favorite parts of Paris and how she really should have gone sight-seeing with him. He tears his gaze away from her face and looks up to see Gibbs. His boss is bearing coffee and a greasy, rubbery piece of pizza on a paper plate. It is only then that Tony realizes how hungry he is. "Gourmet restaurant down there, huh, Boss?"

Gibbs is not amused. He slaps both items down on the bedside table. "I better not have to bring you and Abby food again. The last thing I need is my _entire_ team in a hospital bed."

"Sorry, Boss," he says, obediently taking a huge bite of pizza. It tastes good despite its poor appearance, if only because he hasn't eaten since this morning.

Tony gulps down some coffee and watches Gibbs go to the other side of Ziva's bed, kiss her cheek, and whisper something in her ear. The look on the older man's face is soft as he gazes at her, but once he has straightened up, he is all business. "I have a meeting with Vance and SECNAV," he tells Tony. "I'll be back in the morning."

"I'll be here," Tony says. Gibbs nods at him and strides out of the room, and it is only when he and Ziva are alone that he realizes the significance of what he's having for dinner.

Pizza and coffee.

Just like that night seven years ago, the night he had followed her to the hotel pool as an enemy and left as something else. That night, she had confided in him, but never would he have guessed for their relationship to become what it has.

"Remember that?" he asks, not bothering to explain what he's thinking about out loud. He takes another bite of pizza. "If you were awake, I'd totally share."

It's easy to hear her laughing voice in his head, telling him that no, he would not willingly share food. Again, he replies out loud: "Nah. I would. Only with you, though."

**Yay! The second chapter of my first NCIS longfic! I think that officially makes it more than a oneshot, yes? :P**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

It is completely dark outside and Tony has been using the overhead light to stare at the wall for two hours when her voice comes from nowhere. She speaks softly, groggily, and slowly enough that each syllable in his name almost sounds like its own sentence.

He looks down, and his eyes immediately lock onto her brown ones. They are tired and hazy, but they are unmistakably Ziva's, and he cannot help himself from breathing out her name.

The serene moment is broken when she gasps, "The bomb!" and sits up too quickly. She cries out, and Tony reaches to cradle her injured shoulder, coaxing her back onto the pillows. "Tony, is everyone okay?"

"Listen, I'll fill you in, but we need to let a nurse know you woke up first."

Ziva grabs his hand as he's reaching for the call button. He is taken aback by the strength she possesses in her healthy arm. "Tell me _now_."

The nurse told him that it is common for patients to have poor memories of the one or two days after they are given anesthesia, but there is such fear and anxiety evident in her eyes. Even if he has to tell her again in the morning, he will not withhold comfort from her tonight.

"We're all fine," he says in the most soothing voice he can. Her muscles visibly relax. "We, as in Gibbs' team. There were… other agents who didn't make it. Um, McGee… McGee got the worst of it; he was by the window in the squad room. But his surgery went well and he's gonna be just fine." There is a long pause as he debates with himself, and then he decides to reveal all of it, to rip it off like a Band-Aid. "Ducky had a heart attack."

She gasps, tightening her grip on his fingers. "_What_?"

"Palmer says he's okay, too," he adds quickly. "But I thought you should know."

The sheer gravity of all the anguish that has hit their team today weighs heavily in her sullen eyes, and he fears that she is about to show that broken girl he saw just about a year ago in the same elevator they had been pulled from today. Ziva being weak both hurts and scares him.

When she cracks, there is good reason to be scared.

But she doesn't, at least for now. Instead, she moves that good hand to touch his cheek and murmurs, "What about you?"

Tony is caught off guard by the sudden change in her face and tone, but he goes along with it and sighs. The warmth of her palm against his face renews his guilt. "Me. I've got nothing but cuts and bruises."

Her fingers ghost over the markings on his face, applying the slightest pressure, not near enough to hurt. He doesn't understand how she can be worried about him when he is sitting in a chair, barely scathed, while _she_ lays in her hospital bed hooked up to a heart monitor. Doesn't she want to know about how serious her injury was or the measures taken to repair it?

What about the reason he allowed it to happen?

"You lost a lot of blood," he tells her.

"I did not ask about me," she reminds him gently. "I asked about you."

Right then, he sees news footage from Morocco. The _Damocles_. Saleem Ulman. Jonas Cobb. The cumulative pain hits him so hard he feels light-headed and his chest seizes up; he has to remind himself that everything is in the past and, more importantly, that they survived it all.

He focuses on her concerned face, takes note of the fact that she still cradles his cheek in her palm. In the end, it is her acting like he's the one who needs to be cared for that causes his anger to rise like bile.

"I'm not hurt, but I'm not good, Ziva." Tony stands abruptly from his chair; her hand drops to the bed. "Do you know how many times I've almost lost you?" His voice is too loud for nighttime at a hospital, but now that he's started, he can't stop. "Too many. And it almost happened again. Why the hell do you always have to be on top of me? Can't you just let me take the hit for once?"

"For _once_?" she asks, her face contorting in disbelief. "Tony. You took… the _ultimate_ hit. You came to Somalia."

Tony shakes his head, holds up his hands Neither of them wants to relive that. They don't bring it up. They don't talk about it. It's an unspoken rule and she is currently breaking it. "Stop."

"Abby told me," she pushes. "She told me the mission never would have happened without you." Her voice cracks, and he berates himself: _you upset her. You caused her to bring up Somalia. You couldn't just shut your damn mouth._

"Ziva, I'm-"

Before he can finish apologizing, she cuts him off. "I didn't tackle you in the elevator, Tony. Everything happened so fast; we just fell. It was not purposeful, but I… will gladly take a shoulder injury, because you have saved my life."

He stares at her, temporarily speechless as his anger at each of them melts away, and then lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. The hair falling across her face flutters with her shuddering breath. Tony hesitantly moves it aside; her eyes are closed. "Ziva, you can't feel guilty about that."

"I don't," she replies automatically, opening her eyes and shifting just slightly so that her injured arm isn't bothered but her other arm can snake around his waist. Almost subconsciously, he leans closer to her. "I haven't for a long time. I am merely aware of… the sacrifice you were willing to make for me. And I am telling you, I'm willing to do the same thing." Their foreheads meet, and her heart monitor speeds up a little. She is _alive_ and she is _here _and he feels it with every bone in his body. It is quiet except for their breathing and the beeping until she murmurs, almost in wonder, "You meant it."

"What?" Tony asks.

"You meant it when you said that you couldn't live without me."

This is a turning point. The point at which he needs to make a decision: move forward or go back. Deflect as he usually does or start being straight.

Ziva already _knows_. She knows what he knows, which is that _yes_, he meant it and that today, he still needs her just as much as he ever did. All he needs to do is stop running from what that means for them, what a mutual understanding could lead to.

This is the time to stop squelching everything.

Their time- his and Ziva's- is upon them.

One of his hands threads into her messy hair, and there is no deflection in the question he asks. "You didn't believe me?"

"Not fully. Not until now." And she brushes her lips against his. "I cannot live without you, either."

0000000000

In the morning, he is awakened by two loud nurses moving around Ziva's bed and writing in her charts, their laughter resembling the squawking of chickens. Tony sits up in his hard plastic chair and winces as he feels a twinge in his neck.

"Wha' time is it?" he slurs, more to himself than anyone, but one of the nurses pauses in the middle of a story and looks over.

"It's about nine," she says. "Glad you woke up; we were about to kick you outta here. We need to change her bandages."

_Highly doubt you two have trouble waking anybody up, _he thinks grouchily, and is surprised to see that Ziva is only beginning to stir. She looks better than she did yesterday; there is more color in her face, and he worked most of the knots out of her hair last night.

He stands slowly, hand braced against his aching back. "That's cool. I'll go get some food. It just doesn't feel right to eat in front of the lady while she's being fed through an IV."

The nurses chortle as he leaves the room. In the hallway, he turns toward McGee's room instead of the cafeteria. The last time Tony saw the junior agent was immediately after he and Ziva were rescued from the elevator; the paramedics had already gotten to McGee and were hurrying him out on a stretcher. He figures he owes Probie an apology for not coming to visit before now- although, McGee probably has his hands full with Abby.

When he enters the room, he does a double take. McGee is awake and sitting up in bed, but attached to twice as many wires as Ziva, including a nasal cannula. Where Tony's face is a bit scratched up, McGee's is showered with tiny incisions, and the skin that isn't marked looks puffy.

Another person he cares about, put in a hospital by Harper Dearing.

Damn that bastard.

"Tony!" Abby cries before he can think of something more eloquent to say. She is standing directly under the TV, the remote totally vertical as she flips through the channels. "Hi!"

"Hi," he says uncertainly, taken aback by how completely _normal _she seems. "Is that really the most comfortable way to do that?"

"This is the only place the stupid remote works," she explains, craning her neck to see the screen. "_Days of Our Lives_, McGee?"

There is no reply. She takes that as a no and returns to her surfing.

Tony walks further into the room, stopping at the foot of McGee's bed. "How's it goin'?" he asks lamely, stopping himself from adding a McNickname at the end.

"Great." The sarcasm is evident in the raspy voice. "Best part is that my ribs are only bruised. Heard from Gibbs?"

"Not today."

"_Toddlers & Tiaras _is on!"

"No," both men say at once. Abby holds up her hands in surrender. McGee asks, "How's Ziva?"

_I cannot live without you, either._

All Tony says is, "She's doing well," without elaborating on his anger and guilt or the confessions that had been exchanged the night before. Something on the TV catches McGee's eye and he tells Abby to leave it. It appears to be the Discovery Channel, nothing Tony is interested in, and he plops down in a chair. He decides that he will sit in here either until Gibbs arrives or the science show gets too boring, whichever occurs first.

It is a sudden thought, coming out of nowhere and completely blindsiding him, that causes him to inhale deeply several minutes later. His companions glance over curiously, but their attention is quickly recaptured by the TV, leaving Tony to remember what the nurse had told him about anesthesia and memory loss.

Last night's conversation might not exist in Ziva's mind.

**I really like this chapter, personally. But I'd love to know what you think! Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Guys.**

**I love you guys.**

**I have been so thrilled and touched by the support this story has gotten. Thank you all SO MUCH. Sometimes I've had trouble writing this story, but the fact that people are enjoying it makes it worthwhile. I really hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectations!**

**Just wanted to take a moment to express my gratitude. Here's the chapter! Leave a review, if you are so inclined!**

As one boring Discovery Channel documentary ends and another begins, Tony receives a call from Gibbs, instructing him to come to the cafeteria. He makes sure McGee doesn't need anything, then pops his head into Ziva's room to find her sleeping soundly before he goes in search of a staircase- he will not take the elevator.

It has been less than twenty-four hours since he last stood in the cafeteria, but it feels like a lifetime ago. There are more people milling around than he remembers from yesterday, but his mind hadn't exactly been unoccupied as he stood at the coffee station, willing himself to pick up the pot.

He turns his head in that direction and, sure enough, there is Gibbs, just turning around with a coffee in each hand. The older man catches his eye and nods at an empty table in the corner. Tony goes to join him, and his hand does not shake at all when he reaches for one of the coffees. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs sinks into a chair without a word; Tony does the same. The room around them is noisy with voices and clattering silverware, but they sip their drinks silently until Gibbs says, "Dearing is baiting us."

"He's _been_ baiting us, Boss. The phone calls, the-"

"No. He claims to be turning himself in. Gave us a location to find him at."

Tony sets his coffee down on the table. "You know that's a trap."

"Yeah, I _know_, DiNozzo," he snaps. "But he likes to watch his handiwork pay off, so we know he'll be there. We're going in this afternoon with a bomb squad."

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he asks the question that is expected of him as senior field agent: "You need me?"

His boss takes a long gulp of coffee, and when he lowers his cup, Tony is faced with the fierce, withering stare of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The only instinct he hears is the one telling him to look away, but he refuses to back down and tries to understand why the hell he's being glared at.

Finally, Gibbs says, "Depends."

"On what?" He has absolutely no idea what's happening.

"Whether you're willing to leave her bedside."

Tony's heart stops as if he has been caught doing something wrong- except that he _hasn't._ "What?"

"You spent all night with Ziva," Gibbs hisses, leaning forward and using his finger to punctuate every couple words. "You didn't go see McGee until this morning. If I had asked you two hours ago how he was, you wouldn't have known what to tell me."

_How the hell does he know that?_ he wonders, but it's a stupid question. It's _Gibbs_; he always knows. Maybe he talked to Abby or a nurse; maybe it's just obvious. In the end, it doesn't actually matter. But what does? Tony isn't sure of that, either. "Boss-"

"I'm not blind, DiNozzo. Okay? I see it. I can even understand it. Doesn't change the fact that I gave you an order. If I leave you here, I need your focus on _the team. _And if I take you in the field, I need you to not be distracted by thinking about Ziva."

Tony's mind is in so many places at once. He is angry, and he is ashamed, and he wants to prove his loyalty to his team, and he wants to tell Gibbs to go fuck himself.

_I have never been so distracted by Ziva that I couldn't do my job, _he starts to say, then realizes that is a lie, as is his subsequent thought: _You don't know what this is like._

Gibbs does know. He's been down that road twice, first with Shannon and then with Jenny. It occurs to Tony for the first time that in a way, _nobody_ understands his plight better than his boss does.

That is what gives him the strength to push down all the emotions that have risen to the surface and become the level-headed, rational agent who is not in love with his partner. Looking directly into Gibbs' eyes in order to communicate his commitment to the good of the team, of the agency, he says, "Tell me where you want me."

0000000000

The bomb squad has entered the warehouse. They should be treading carefully around the perimeter of the interior, but he is not sure, because his earwig is silent. He stands on surveillance along the outskirts of the property, twenty feet from the next agent, holds his gun steady in front of him.

This is Tony's job for now, and he is intent on taking down Harper Dearing if and when he appears. In the back of his mind, however, he is aware of the fact that Gibbs is also inside as part of the unit actively looking for Dearing, and he is not. Usually, Tony would be right on Gibbs' six- that's where he _should _be. The fact that he's not is indicative of a greater issue, one that will continue far beyond this op, this day. He has been demoted in a way that he hasn't been before, and he isn't entirely sure how to get back in his boss's good graces. No matter how long you work with Gibbs, the processes of his mind never become completely clear.

After this, Tony has a lot of thinking to do.

A voice in his ear alerts him of activity inside, and he rests his finger on the gun's trigger, prepared to fire. His eyes dart from one end of the building to the other, even though this is the northeast side and the action is said to be on the west.

The crack of a gun echoes through his skull, but for once, it isn't right next to him. "We got him!" shouts Gibbs, and then there is a shuffling noise he cannot identify- it feels strange not to be able to see it. "All clear."

Tony lowers his gun and takes a deep breath, and then decides to go assist whether Gibbs wants him there or not.

0000000000

Ducky's cheerful, entertaining brand of talkativeness has not been properly appreciated by Tony until a substitute medical examiner shows up for Harper Dearing's body. He gives his assistant instructions and the assistant complies; most of their interactions involve the words "hand me that". It is actually somewhat hard to listen to. As Tony helps Gibbs process the scene, he wonders if it is his boss who shot the terrorist. Probably was.

Whoever did it, seeing the killer become the victim is both satisfying and disappointing. Dearing got what he deserved, but in a way, perhaps the United States justice system would have been more of a punishment.

Too late for that, though. It's time to focus on the destruction he left behind.

Once the body has been transported to the morgue and all of the evidence bags are in the crime scene van, they get in the Charger and head out of the parking lot. Tony figures they are going to NCIS. Gibbs surprises him, though: "I'm dropping you off at the hospital."

"Huh?"

"Dearing's gone. We know he was working alone; there's no more damage to be done. That means that while I tie up loose ends, your job is _the team _again. Got it?"

_The team._ Heavily emphasized. "Yeah."

Tony can tell that Gibbs still isn't terribly happy with him, but they say nothing else until twenty minutes later when they pull up to the entrance of the hospital. Before Tony climbs out of the car, he manages to calmly ask, "Have you heard anything else about Ducky?"

"He's gonna have to stay in the hospital for about a week, and then we'll see. Not sure if he'll be able to come back to work."

He nods and turns to go. His boss calls to his back, "Keep your cell on, DiNozzo. I might need you."

A good sign, he thinks- but he still closes the door a little too hard behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

The first place he goes is Ziva's room. There is not much thinking involved in this; his feet automatically carry him in that direction. It's already six in the evening but he has yet to speak to her today, since he left with Gibbs right after they finished in the cafeteria. He wants to check on her and make sure she's okay, but also, he has to know whether or not she remembers their conversation from last night.

If she does, he is terrified and exhilarated and somewhat lost about where they go from here… and if she doesn't, she is back to believing that he lied to her in Somalia (which he still can't get his mind around- did he not sound sincere? Did she forget that he had been given truth serum?).

No matter the fears associated with it, Tony is hoping for the former so bad it almost hurts.

He stands outside her door and doesn't hear any voices inside, but he knocks anyway. She calls for him to come in; he does, and finds her sitting up with a tray of food in her lap. Her IV and heart monitor are gone, her face has been cleaned, and her hair appears to be damp and brushed out.

"They fix you up with a luxury bath?" he asks with a small smile.

Ziva unwraps a plastic spork with her teeth. "I would not call it 'luxury', but it did feel nice."

He tries to remember the last time he showered, then realizes he can't, and that he hasn't changed clothes in over a day. Pulling his trusty chair up to the side of her bed and sinking into it, he says, "Do you think they let visitors take baths?"

"I was wondering the same thing," she replies, taking a bite of vanilla pudding. "You are smelling a bit… ripe is the word, yes?"

Tony's jaw drops in mock outrage, though he _is_ afraid there is truth in her claim. "Ripe?"

She makes a big show of leaning over, pushing her nose into his shoulder, and inhaling deeply. A mass of dark hair is in his face and the smell of hospital shampoo is assaulting his nostrils. "Yes," Ziva says, her lips moving against his shirt. "I would at _least_ consider some deodorant."

"Alright, I got it," he says, gently pushing her back. "I'll go home and work on my hygiene tonight, after you and McGee go to sleep."

"I went to see him and Abby today."

"They let you out of here?"

"No. When they decided to take all the wires off, there was nothing keeping me in bed." She shrugs and ignores his eye roll. "You were correct about McGee getting the worst of it. He was in pain; Abby kept pushing the morphine button until a nurse told her to stop."

The mental image of the world's happiest Goth being chastised by a middle-aged woman in scrubs makes him laugh- and then his laugh cuts off suddenly, because her wording has registered in his mind: _you were correct_.

She remembers.

Something in his face must have changed, because she is looking at him strangely. "What's wrong?" she asks seriously, not understanding that something is actually very _right_.

"Nothing," Tony replies. At her skeptical expression, he insists, "_Nothing. _Come on. Eat." He watches as she obeys. Once she has finished, the hand not bound by a sling lays limply beside her, and he takes it. There is no resistance, not even a surprised glance, and now he knows for certain: she does remember that line they crossed last night, that for now, at least, they are on the same page. They know where they stand with each other. Neither one of them is a chapter ahead or behind.

The full implications of this remain to be seen, but today… today, it means he gets to hold her hand.

"Where were you and Gibbs? Abby said you left to meet him this morning and never came back to McGee's room."

With a slight pang in his stomach, he makes a mental note to drop back in before he leaves tonight. Gibbs might have told them about Dearing, but probably just assumed Tony would. He should call Palmer, too.

It's unsettling having to be everybody's news source. Usually, they're working right alongside him, whether in the field or the lab, and they are all up to speed. Right now, Tony is the liaison between Gibbs and his coworkers, something he has never had to be before.

He also appears to be failing at it, if Gibbs' anger is any indication.

"We took down Dearing," he says, and watches Ziva's eyes widen.

"What? So quickly?"

Of course he explains what happened, how Dearing had turned himself in, how it had turned out not to be a trap after all, how it had only taken one anticlimactic shot. He purposely leaves out the fact that he was on outside surveillance when it happened, because then she would know that Gibbs is pissed at him, and then she would want to know why, and he would rather she didn't.

While he is speaking, Ziva looks down at her lap. Even though he cannot see her face, he knows she is listening intently. The muscles in her shoulders tighten a little more with each word he utters, and when he is done, she is quiet. Tense.

Two more long seconds of silence pass before she swallows audibly. "That man is a monster," she says shakily. "Just as I said. There is always another one."

Resting his free hand on the back of her neck, he maneuvers his head so that he can look into her eyes, which have suddenly turned empty. "_Was_," he corrects gently. "He _was_ a monster. He's gone now. He's gone, and we're not. We won, Ziva."

"Look around, Tony," she says, not harshly- just matter-of-factly. "Look at where we are. Harper Dearing got what he wanted."

And yes, Tony has to admit that much is true. People have died; the Navy Yard is a wasteland. The terrorist wreaked havoc and left them to clean up the mess.

But the mess will get cleaned up, and they will recover. Of this, he is certain.

Just as he is about to tell her this, her head snaps up, and those empty eyes have turned wild. They are drilling right into his. "I want out of here."

"What? You haven't been cleared."

"I don't care," she hisses, picking up her mostly full tray and putting it on the bedside table. She then attempts to swing her legs over the side of the bed, but he holds them down. "He put me here. I will not remain where he dictated I go."

"Zi-"

"_Tony_."

The intensity in her voice forces his list of reasons why this is a bad idea to fly right out of his head. All he sees are that her eyes have shifted yet again- now they are the sad, broken eyes that hurt him so much.

It seems as if all the strength has been zapped from her as she sinks back into the pillows and takes her hand from his so she can lift it to her face. Huddled up in the bed and swimming in her oversized hospital gown, her shoulders begin to shake, and Tony finds himself carefully enveloping her in his arms.

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The nurse won't give Tony the discharge papers without first asking a billion questions, then using the answers to determine that he needs a long lecture on how to take care of Ziva. He has decided to take her to his place- it isn't essential that she stay in the hospital, but it would also be hard for her to be home alone and unassisted- so he does need the information. However, he did understand how many antibiotics she is supposed to take a day the first time he was told.

Once the lesson is over and the papers are signed, the nurse goes to prepare Ziva for her departure. Tony says that he will come meet them in a minute, then heads toward McGee's room. On the way, it occurs to him that he is disobeying orders (again) by bringing Ziva to his apartment, but he can't just leave her here. He'll have to take his chances with Gibbs.

He discovers that both Abby and McGee have fallen asleep, and he doesn't blame either of them- one is injured, one was likely up most of last night. Only briefly does he entertain the idea of waking Abby; in the end, he grabs a pad of paper and a pen and scrawls a quick message: _Ziva's being discharged. Taking her home with me. Call me when you can, Abs._

When he finishes, signing AD JR. with a flourish at the bottom, he sets it down on McGee's bedside table. There is a soft snore that almost sounds like a response, although he can't figure out who it comes from.

**Alright! Here's that! This story is about to pick up speed, so stay tuned!**

**Thanks so much for continuing to read this story! It means a lot to me!**


	6. Chapter 6

Tony's apartment is dark and stuffy and has the aura of being abandoned for a trip- which, in a way, it was, although there wasn't a whole lot of relaxation on this particular vacation. As soon as he has changed clothes and gotten Ziva settled on the couch, it becomes his mission to make his home seem occupied again. He turns on the air conditioner and starts a pot of coffee (just in case) and searches for something to eat. Ziva is supposed to be keeping her meals light, so in the end, he makes a plate of buttered toast and carries it into the living room for them to share.

"Can you reach if I put it right here?" he asks as he places it in the middle of the coffee table's edge.

"Yes," Ziva replies, taking a piece off the top of the pile and biting into it. Tony does the same and closes his eyes to savor the taste on his tongue. He has apparently forgotten to eat again.

Usually, he would have the TV on and turned to the news or SportsCenter. Living alone for so long has put him in the habit of producing noise, even if his companion is just the booming voice of Chris Berman. Tonight is different; tonight, he has an actual human being beside him, and even though they are sitting in comfortable silence, this is so much more comforting than any highlight reel.

After her third piece of toast, Ziva sinks back into the couch cushions. Tony glances over and, around a mouthful of food, asks, "You okay?"

"Yes. Just tired."

"Bedtime?"

"Not yet." She stares up at the ceiling and runs her fingers through her hair, which has mostly dried and is curling around her shoulders. A few seconds later, she turns to look at him. "Thank you for getting me out of the hospital, Tony. I am not… entirely sure what came over me."

He knows that she is referring to the breakdown she had after demanding to leave. For ten minutes he had soothed her and rocked her and tried valiantly to fight back tears of his own, but when her dam broke, so did his. "It's been a rough couple of days."

She nods her agreement, shifting her arm to a more comfortable position within its sling. "I have not seen Gibbs," she says quietly, and Tony's stomach clenches. "How is he?"

_Even more pissed than usual_, he thinks, and then tries to remind himself that they have _all_ been pushed to extremes. They are more stressed. More tense. More on edge.

Being bombed tends to do that to a person.

"He's, you know, Gibbs. Just been doing his job, working with Vance on the Dearing stuff." Tony pauses. "Not sure what they're doing tonight."

Ziva rolls her lips together, her eyes fixating on a random point somewhere behind him. Then she sighs, a long, deep one, and pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't think anybody knows." His answer is honest, painfully so. He scoots closer to her and gently removes her hand from her face. Almost immediately, their fingers become entangled. "But we will."

0000000000

Another hour or so passes. Neither of them talk much until Ziva says that her shoulder is feeling sore. Tony fetches some of the painkillers the nurse sent home with her, which she swallows dry ("How did you _do_ that?"), and then suggests that she get some sleep. There is not much fight left in her; she allows Tony to help her off the couch and hold her arm steady as they walk to his bedroom.

He watches carefully as she lowers herself onto the edge of his bed. Once he's satisfied that she is seated safely, he motions to her outfit, cheap shorts and a T-shirt the hospital supplied her with, and asks, "Are you comfortable in that?"

Ziva's eyebrows shoot up, and a small smirk plays on her lips. "Why, Tony? Are you going to help me change?"

"Um," he mumbles, feeling his cheeks flare up, which is stupid. This is a completely normal thing to say in the context of their everyday banter; there's no good reason it should embarrass him. Maybe it's the fact that she is actually on his bed or maybe it's because of the circumstances that put her there. Either way, he can't bring himself to take the bait. Instead, he shrugs and says, "If you need me to."

She seems to understand why he balks, because her face softens. "I am fine for now. Perhaps tomorrow we can run by my place and I can pack a bag."

"Yeah," Tony says, relieved. "Yeah, sure." He fluffs and rearranges pillows for Ziva to lay against, creating a sort of nook for her head and shoulder. "Alright. Here you go."

As she maneuvers herself into her corner of the bed, he catches sight of his cell phone on the dresser and suddenly remembers Gibbs. His boss doesn't know that Ziva was discharged and is with him, and the thought of telling him is kind of scary.

It has to be done, though, so Tony picks up his phone and types a quick message, then lets his finger hover over the 'send' button.

Ziva's wild eyes as she said, "I want out of here," flash through his mind.

He hits 'send'.

If Gibbs wants to get angry, so be it. He didn't see that look in her eyes.

"Okay," Tony says, slipping the phone into the pocket of his sweats. "Rest up. I'll be in the living room."

"Tony."

"Yeah?" He walks to the side of the bed, looking down at her.

Covers pulled up to her chin, hair spread out on the pillows around her, she stares up at him with all the innocence of a child. And then: "I do not want to be alone."

0000000000

It is past one a.m. Tony is exhausted, but he finds it hard to close his eyes when Ziva is sprawled beside him. She is on her back, chest rising and falling with every breath (and snore) she produces, and he is on his side, almost touching her. His head could so easily tip onto her good shoulder, and his arm could so easily drape over her waist, but he respects the thin layer of space between them.

While he watches her sleep, he thinks. He thinks about the past seven years of his life, from the day it was so irrevocably changed by a Mossad operative waltzing into the squad room to now.

He thinks about every time he almost lost her, every time it felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest, choking him, never to be lifted- and yet, here she is, here he is, _here they are_.

Two voices overlap in his head.

_Couldn't live without you, I guess._

_I cannot live without you, either._

And suddenly, the burning question for him is: _Why are we trying to, then?_

**Virtual cookies if you know who Chris Berman is.**

**Thank you to everybody who has read this far! You guys rock!**


	7. Chapter 7

The sun is shining through the bedroom window when Tony wakes up. He covers his face with an arm, then realizes that it is the phone ringing in his pocket, not the light, that awakened him. It takes his fingers a moment to cooperate, but he eventually manages to lift the phone to his face and mutter, "'Lo?"

"Tony!" yells Abby; he winces and holds the phone away from his ear. "I just woke up and got your note! Ziva's out of here already? Is she with you? Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah," he says, rubbing his bleary eyes as he swings his legs out of bed. He glances over his shoulder on his way out the door; Ziva is still sleeping soundly. "Yeah, she's here, she's alright. Listen, what are you doing?"

She sighs into the phone. "Calling you like you said to!"

Tony wanders aimlessly around the kitchen, turns on the coffee maker, slowly recalls the news he has to share. "Right. Okay. I just wanted to let you know that Gibbs and I took down Dearing yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You were asleep when I came in to tell you."

There is a long silence as she considers whether or not to forgive him. Inevitably, she does. "Well, okay. Should I tell McGee?"

"If you want."

"I will," Abby says, and he's sort of glad that he doesn't have to repeat the news yet again. "Are you going to come back to the hospital today?"

He hesitates, thinking of Gibbs, who he has not heard from since sending the text last night. This does not necessarily mean Gibbs is angry; he has written all of five text messages in his lifetime, and he only calls if there is something to say. Right now, Tony has no idea where he stands with his boss.

Then he thinks of McGee, all those wires connected to him, stuck in a room with Abby while she tries to make him watch soap operas and TLC, and realizes that he _is_ going to the hospital today, and it isn't because he's afraid of Gibbs.

0000000000

It is a couple more hours before Ziva wakes up, and by then, Tony is so absorbed in _Mean Girls _(which he does not own, for the record; it just happens to be on TV) that he doesn't even notice when her snoring ceases. She announces her presence by standing behind the couch, staring at the back of his head, until he turns around and jumps upon seeing her.

"What the hell?" he gasps, refraining from pressing a hand to his chest- he's got to maintain _some_ dignity. "Good morning to you, too."

Ziva smirks and walks to the front of the couch so she can sink down beside him. "Jumpy, Tony?"

He narrows his eyes at her until they land on her shoulder. Abandoning their banter, he skims his fingers across the bandages bulging beneath her t-shirt. "How's it feel?"

"Not bad."

"Want some coffee?"

She considers it, but ends up wrinkling her nose. "Coffee does not sound very good right now." Slouching so that she can comfortably rest her head in the crook of his neck, she asks, "What are we watching?"

"Um." Tony fumbles for the remote as one of the girls in the movie declares that on Wednesdays they wear pink. When he finds the remote, he quickly changes the channel to ESPN. "That was… I wasn't really watching it."

Ziva hums, unconvinced, but doesn't push it.

"So listen," he says, allowing his chin to rest against her hairline. _Damn, _he likes this… this simple, relaxed act of just being together, occupying the same space and being content with it. "I gotta run up to the hospital, just to check in with McGee. Will you be okay here on your own for a couple hours?"

"I want to come."

"What?" He recalls how just last night, she had been desperate to leave. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Ziva sits up, and he immediately misses her warmth. "I would like to see Abby and McGee again. This time, I will be going there on my own terms; yesterday, Tony, I just could not… _stand_ to lay in that bed any longer."

Their eyes meet. Tony would rather not take her back there, but he also knows that he cannot keep her from their team- and that if he did try it, she would find some way to get to the hospital herself, even if it meant driving all the way there with one hand.

First they go over to her apartment, where he opens the door with his key because she left hers at his place. Inside, she digs a duffel bag out of the back of her closet and takes all of five minutes to fill it with clothes and toiletries. Tony wanders around with his hands in his pockets, looking at the prints on her walls and inspecting her small (but growing) DVD collection.

"Tony?" she calls, a note of hesitance in her voice. "Could you come here?"

"Yeah." He saunters down the hallway and pokes his head into her bedroom. Ziva is standing inside in a pair of her own pants and the hospital's shorts are abandoned on the ground, but she still wears the hospital's t-shirt. "Did you change with one hand?"

"Yes, but I cannot… get my shirt by myself." Chewing on her lip, she nods at a gray shirt of her own laid out on the bed. "Could you…?"

Unlike last night, she is seriously asking him for help changing. Tony swallows hard, his hand giving a nervous twitch, though he doesn't know why. It shouldn't be a big deal; after all, that undercover operation years ago had left nothing to the imagination when it came to each other's bodies. But that had been a show, and they had barely known each other back then; there was little implication for their relationship because at that time, it had been virtually nonexistent. Now, any intimacy they forge would be on the basis of a strong partnership, and there _would_ be consequences.

Not necessarily _bad_ ones.

But consequences nonetheless.

And really, as he reaches behind her neck to undo her sling, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck, there is no better word to describe it than _intimate_.

"Keep your arm held up," Tony murmurs, setting the sling on the bed. "Okay… take your good arm and pull it out of the sleeve."

She does as he says. Silence settles over the room, causing their breathing to sound louder than it is while he takes the hem of the shirt and carefully lifts it over her head so that only her shoulder is still covered. The revealed bra is definitely not courtesy of the hospital; it is purple and lacy and-

_Stop looking, stop looking, _he chastises himself, focusing intently on bunching the shirt up in his hands and carefully working it past her bandages and down her arm. Then it is off, laying on the floor with the shorts, and Ziva is standing in front of him in her pants and the bra. As he turns to grab the new shirt, he finds her staring at him. Their eyes lock on each other.

He isn't sure how it happens or who initiates it; all he knows is that in the next second, their lips are together. They kiss softly, just barely moving their mouths, her skin searing his fingertips as he reaches up to cup her face. But then she puts her good arm around his neck and presses against him and he loses all pretenses of self-control, coaxing her mouth open and meeting her tongue with his. Desperate to be as close to her as possible, Tony moves his arms to wrap them around her, but forgets to be careful- she jerks away a second later, gritting her teeth as she holds onto her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he stammers. "You okay?"

"I am fine," she grounds out, swallowing hard. She picks her shirt up off the bed and holds it out to him, avoiding his eyes. "Help me put this on."

Slowly, he does, only touching her bare skin when absolutely necessary. Once the shirt is on, he allows the sling to cradle her arm and fastens it back behind her neck. "Okay," he says nervously. "You're good to go."

Ziva's face is pale. He isn't sure whether it's because of the kiss or the pain.

Could be both.

As she reaches for her duffel bag, he waves her off and picks it up himself. "I got it. Are you ready?"

She nods and waits for him to leave the room first. They walk all the way back to the car with her behind him, and he hates not being able to read her mind.

**Thank you for reading; hope you enjoyed!**

**Leave me a review? Pretty please with a cherry on top?**


	8. Chapter 8

They drive to the hospital in silence, the tension in the air thick enough for Ziva to cut with one of her knives. Tony repeatedly wishes he had a bottle of water so that it could simultaneously soothe his turning stomach and numb the tingling sensation in his lips.

Every time he dares to steal a glance at Ziva, she has her head turned toward the window so that all he sees is her ponytail. He wants to see her face, her eyes, because that kiss was definitely _not_ one-sided; she had been affected, too.

That kiss had been headed somewhere.

He pulls into a parking spot and turns the car off but makes no move to get out, and neither does she. With a deep sigh, he says, "We gotta talk."

"I do not wish to."

Fighting the muscles that want to slam his palm against the steering wheel in frustration and anger, because he _cannot_ continue to play this game, he says, "Ziva, I'm tired of ignoring everything. We. Have. To. _Talk_."

When Tony turns his head, he is somewhat startled to see her leaning forward and looking right back at him. "We are here to see McGee, Tony. We can talk later."

Her eyes are sincere. She knows as well as he does that their kiss was the result of something that has been brewing just below the surface for a long, long time. There is no denial here; in fact, she's right. This is not the time or place.

"Later." It's a question.

"Yes." A promise.

Nodding slowly, he says, "Okay," and watches her open the passenger side door. She gives a small smile over her shoulder before slipping out of the car.

Using the assurance she gave him as evidence to the contrary, he desperately tries to squelch the thought that Ziva always seems to be the one looking back.

0000000000

There is a great difference between an atmosphere with Abby and one without; as soon as Tony and Ziva step into McGee's room, they can tell that she is absent. Consequently, the TV is turned to a normal volume, and McGee is watching it stoically. When he sees his teammates standing in the doorway, he quickly grabs the remote and flips the channel, but not before Tony manages to catch the glimpse of the logo in the corner of the screen.

"The Food Network? Really?" he taunts, flopping down in a plastic chair.

McGee rolls his eyes. "It's the middle of the day, okay? There's nothing on."

"If Rachael Ray fits your tastes, I bet you, like all American soccer moms, would enjoy _General Hospital_."

"Tony, I was severely injured by a shattering window. Can't you leave me alone for a while?"

He does feel bad when he notes McGee's face, exasperated and desperate for a minute of peace. After all, the younger agent _is_ usually the target for the older one's teasing and ridicule, and apparently, being in the hospital doesn't change that. It's times like these when Tony is _more_, not less, tempted to poke fun, but McGee isn't wrong- he shouldn't be acting like this right now.

He glances at Ziva out of the corner of his eye.

It really is time to grow up and start facing things head-on.

Before he can decide on something to say that isn't "don't worry, I can appreciate a good soap, too," she gives McGee a chaste kiss on the forehead and asks how he feels.

"It's been getting better," he tells her. "Kind of achy all over. Will you push my morphine button?"

Ziva complies, and Tony says, "Hey, where is our favorite painkiller pumper, anyway?"

"Down in the chapel. She's gone a couple times since we've been here; she… she's taken the whole thing kind of hard."

Tony is surprised, and though Ziva will not look directly at him, he can tell that she is, too. "I thought she seemed hardly affected," she says.

The way McGee sighs makes Tony wonder if Abby is tending more to him or vice versa. "She swings back and forth. One minute, she's fine; the next she's just a mess. I don't know what to do for her, or what I can do, when I'm like… _this_." He indicates the entire length of his body.

"We're all kind of feeling that way." Tony breathes his own small sigh. "Does Gibbs know?"

"No. Haven't seen him today, and she didn't want to bother him while he was dealing with Dearing. Nice job, by the way."

This joke, he cannot help. "It was pretty anticlimactic. Would have been an awful ending to a movie."

They get off the topic of grief and the bombing and the case and move on to a lighter discussion involving movies and past office pranks. Their words are accompanied by quiet laughter and a certain feeling of restraint. After Ziva leaves to use the bathroom ("I've got it, Tony," she had said as she stood, before he could open his mouth), McGee raises his eyebrows. "What's going on with you two?"

His guard immediately goes up. "What?"

"You've barely looked at each other since you came in here. And we've all three been having one conversation, but it was like… you were each only replying to me."

Why the hell are they, a couple of trained federal agents, such bad liars?

To make matters worse, McGee is waiting for an answer to his question. There's no way in hell Tony is going to say that there have been confessions made and kisses exchanged and feelings possibly reciprocated. It's not happening, for a number of reasons.

Instead, he says, "It's just, you know, the whole elevator thing. There… it wasn't pleasant."

McGee nods, brows knitting together. "I meant to ask you, how long was it before you were rescued?"

Tony thinks back, but really, he has no idea. Time had seemed to stand still as he tried to get Ziva's bleeding under control; it could have been minutes or it could have been hours. "Not really sure. You'd have to ask Gibbs."

"It was after they got to me, right? That's what Abby said." McGee fixes Tony with one of those penetrating looks that makes it clear he's not the clueless little brother everybody treats him as. "What was it like for you?"

"What was _what _like?"

"Ziva getting hurt."

"What the hell kind of question is that? It scared the shit out of me," Tony snaps, even though he knows that McGee has seen him fall apart in the past for Ziva-related reasons and is only asking out of concern. "And it didn't help that we were stuck in an elevator that was gonna drop all the way down the shaft for all we knew."

After checking that nobody is entering the room, McGee lowers his voice and says, "You and her-"

"Tim." He isn't entirely sure where this conversation is going, but the general direction doesn't seem like one he wants to head in. "Not now."

McGee doesn't push it; Tony takes a deep breath and wipes his palms on his jeans. The two men stare in different directions until they hear a clunking noise behind them. Of course it is Abby's shoes; she enters with Gibbs in tow. "Look who I found."

Her voice lacks its usual exclamation and her eyes are puffy; Tony can tell that what little enthusiasm she has is forced. It might be the first time he has ever seen her trying this hard to be cheerful.

"Hey, Boss," Tony and McGee chorus.

At the sound of Tony's voice, Abby snaps her head toward him. A small bit of light creeps back into her eyes. "Tony, hi! Is Ziva with you?"

"Yeah. Bathroom." The expression on Gibbs' face is unreadable. Determined not to back down, Tony meets the steely gaze and holds it for several seconds.

Abby finds two more chairs and puts them side-by-side near the foot of the bed. She is talking- not as much as usual, but enough to take the burden off the males in the room, and she carries on until Ziva enters, looking a little disheveled. Using the restroom was probably more difficult than she had envisioned.

"Ziva!" Happiness bumping up another notch, Abby carefully hugs her friend's neck, mindful of her shoulder. "How are you?"

"I am good," she says; only Tony notices the way her eyes flick briefly over to him. She sits down in her chair. Tony doesn't miss the way Gibbs makes careful observations about her injury and demeanor, and then the boss turns to give a small nod of approval to his senior field agent.

**Did you guys see the season ten preview? I'm still watching and rewatching it! IT'S AMAZING. If you haven't seen it, it's on YouTube!**

**Okay, and just so we're on the same page here- last line is meant to signify that Gibbs is going to lay off them… for now.**

**Thanks for reading, folks!**


	9. Chapter 9

For the rest of the afternoon, the team sits in McGee's room, and it's comforting to all. Gibbs informs them that the agency is in the process of putting together temporary offices but that everybody can take as much or as little time as they need before returning to work. Palmer calls at one point to tell them that Ducky is on track to getting out of the hospital when the doctors originally said he would. This news is met with a light smattering of applause and seems to restore Abby to her fully energized self.

Around five a nurse enters, declares that McGee has socialized enough for one day, and orders everybody besides Abby to leave. Gibbs, Tony and Ziva say their goodbyes and commit to returning tomorrow, then step out into the hallway. After checking that nobody else is in earshot, Tony says lowly, "They've sure got some Nazi nurses around here, don't they?"

Gibbs looks at him. "You didn't have a concussion, right?"

"No."

He should have seen the headslap coming.

While Tony rubs the back of his head, Gibbs turns toward Ziva and affectionately places a hand on the side of her neck. "How are you, Ziver?"

"I am fine," she says, leaning into his touch, but Tony knows that their boss doesn't miss the subtle tightening of her jaw.

Gibbs is a smart man; he doesn't push it. All he does is press a feather-soft kiss to her cheek, and then he steps back and takes in both of them at once. There's no anger left in him; either he has granted forgiveness or he's just too tired to deal with it anymore. Either way, Tony, not completely devoid of a fear of Gibbs, is relieved.

"Dunno what time I'll be in here tomorrow. Keep in touch."

"We will," Tony and Ziva say at the same time, and then exchange a surprised glance upon hearing the way they effortlessly fell back into sync with each other.

Gibbs gives one of his signature half-smiles- which is kinda miraculous, Tony thinks, since yesterday he had been convinced he'd never have anything but a steely-eyed glare directed at him again- and nods as he leaves.

Then there are two.

0000000000

They are halfway back to Tony's apartment before someone speaks, and it is him. "So."

"Yes?"

"Talk now?"

Ziva exhales. "Not yet. Let's eat first; I am hungry."

Although he is worried that she is only trying to put it off and that she will continue to do so, he says, "Sure."

By the time he is locking the apartment door behind them, listening as she walks purposefully into the kitchen, he has figured out exactly what he wants to say and he is determined to say it.

Soon.

_Now_.

For years, it has been simmering at the back of his mind, but for one reason or another, he never allowed it to escape. But now, he feels as if he has been pushed over the edge. This time, he cannot simply shrug off how _terrified_ he was when there was a chance he'd lose her. This time, she has reciprocated the most heartfelt declaration he ever made.

This time, he cannot rebury the feelings that have been brought to the surface.

With a sudden surge of courage- or maybe just a determination to not let another word go unsaid- he tosses his keys on the table beside the door and strides into the kitchen. When he clears his throat to announce his presence, her muscles tense visibly, and there is a long, immeasurable pause before she shuts the fridge door and turns around. "What should we-"

"Ziva," Tony says, taking a step closer to her. "It doesn't matter what we have for dinner right now, okay? I have… we have…"

"To talk," she finishes flatly, leaving no question about her opinion on the subject. "I know."

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration; she is severely testing his patience. All he wants is to finally do this. He has to. _He has to. _"Then talk to me. Please."

Ziva moves slowly toward him, stopping just a foot away. With her face lifted toward his, she begins to speak. "It was a mistake, what we did, Tony. The past few days have been hard. Our… emotions are running high. The position we were in-"

"You _cannot_," he interrupts, waving one finger for emphasis, "act like that was just us not thinking straight. We've been on the brink for a while now. It was a matter of _when_, not _if_. And it wasn't a mistake. There's something here, Ziva There is." She purses her lips, shakes her head, looks away, until Tony takes her face in his hands and, using more gentleness than he is speaking with, forces her to meet his gaze again. "Ziva. Ziva, I want to be with you."

Her eyes go wide and she stares at him. She seems shocked, but surely she has _known_ this fact, on some level, for a long time. Maybe what she's actually surprised by is him saying it out loud.

And then the warmth of her cheeks is gone as she wrenches herself out of his grasp and staggers backward. "We cannot, Tony. We cannot."

"Why not?" he demands, spreading his hands wide. "Give me a reason."

Ziva opens her mouth and closes it again. She rolls her lips and blinks quickly; when she looks back to him, her eyes are shining. "If we did this, I would be jeopardizing my relationships with two of the only men I have ever completely trusted."

The pain in her face hurts him, physically hurts him. How can she think that their partnership and team are so fragile?

Daring to move closer, he speaks more softly, just trying to get her to listen, to consider giving him a chance. "I can't guarantee that things won't go wrong. But if they do, you won't lose me."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because we've been down that road before. It should have ruined us, Ziva, but we came out of it stronger."

Nobody has to specify what road he is talking about: one partner killing the other's boyfriend would be the undoing of most partnerships, and at first, it had seemed like theirs was no exception.

But it was. He will not allow her to forget that.

She nods, seeming to accept it, and his heart lifts a little. But then her eyes darken again and she says, "Tony, you know there is rule number twelve. Gibbs believes in that rule."

Gibbs. The previous anger he held toward his boss rears its ugly head. How did they allow him to worm his way into their personal lives so effectively?

It isn't where he belongs.

"We can't make decisions based on that," Tony says. "That rule exists because it didn't work out with Jenny. It has nothing to do with us."

"I cannot take the matter of disrespecting him lightly. Were it not for him…" Her shudder is so subtle she probably doesn't even realize she did it, but of course he doesn't miss it. "I do not want to think about what would have become of me."

Tony sees her point, and honestly, he doesn't want to think about it, either. Maybe it should give him more concern for Gibbs' rules, but if anything, it makes his need for Ziva greater. She has planted a thought in his head: what if she _hadn't _stayed at NCIS? Where would she be today?

Not with him, that's for sure.

It doesn't make sense, but the alternative to the actual history makes him miss her, even though she _is_ right in front of him.

By now, he is grasping at straws, and he knows it. Somewhat desperately, he adds, "Okay, how about this? Rule number five: don't waste good. You and me, we're good, Ziva. There's… we got something here, and if we don't try to find out what it is-"

"Tony." Ziva is pressing her fingers into her temple, looking overwhelmed. "This is not a good idea, and even if it was… our team needs our full attention right now."

There is that word again: _team_.

Something lodges in his throat. He wants to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek, but isn't sure whether or not he has permission to do so. Besides, he's trying to fight his own tears.

Ziva's whisper seems amplified in the quiet room when she repeats, "This is not a good idea."

Tony's shoulders slump and he looks away; this battle has been lost. When he allows his eyes to return to Ziva's, he finds that her face mirrors the look of defeat he can feel on his own features, and now he wonders if the war is actually the two of them against this expectation of what it means to be a team.

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After they eat, Ziva says that she will go back to her apartment, but he convinces her to stay. Yes, dinner had been terribly awkward, and the rest of her stay with him will be, too. Still, he isn't going to let her go home with one arm out of commission. She needs to be with somebody right now, and whether she likes it or not, he's the only option.

Tony hadn't thought it possible, but bedtime is even worse than dinner. Just last night they slept in the same bed; since then, so much has happened and now it is out of the question. He insists that she take the bed because there isn't room on the couch to pillow her arm, and she grudgingly agrees. They do not speak while he gets her situated or when he leaves.

Even though he is exhausted, he spends all night tossing and turning on the couch, hoping he hasn't screwed everything up for good.

**Poor Tony. Poor Ziva. Poor Tiva.**

**Alright, so once again I just want to issue a collective THANK YOU for reading this far! You guys totally, completely rock!**


	10. Chapter 10

Recovery is slow but steady, both for NCIS and for Tony and Ziva. She stays at his apartment, sleeps alone in his bed, figures out a way to change clothes without his assistance, and attempts to mend the rift between them. At first he resists her efforts because it would require him to delve into feelings he would rather forget about. Her rejection had stung more than he cares to admit, even to himself, and her innocuous questions- "Would you like to watch a movie?"- just renew the hurt. They've watched movies together for a long time; she is trying to bring back an element of their close, comfortable friendship.

He just isn't sure if he can return there.

Two weeks after the explosion, the temporary NCIS offices are ready for use. On the first day, Vance and the uninjured members of all the teams are there; the cramped, dark space assigned to the MCRT contains four tiny desks. Only two are filled. The whole thing is so eerie, especially since Tony and Gibbs work mostly in silence, and as soon as Gibbs tells him to go home, he hops out of his chair and heads for the door. Even the forced politeness of his apartment is preferable to this.

He heads straight home that day. When he arrives, he finds Ziva in the kitchen and two plates of spaghetti and meatballs on the table. Brow furrowed, he looks back and forth between her and the food. "You made that with one hand?"

"Yes," she says in a 'duh' tone of voice, as if this should be a simple task for everybody over the age of six. "It was not difficult."

That's when he thinks that _damn, this woman is amazing, _and realizes how very important it is that he not lose her, even if they must remain friends and partners and nothing else.

They sit down and eat together. Tony rehashes the few highlights of his day at work, then steers the conversation in a more cheerful, lighter direction. Once their plates are empty, she asks yet again if he would like to watch a movie.

He says yes.

There are about two feet of space between them when they settle into the couch. It is strange not to feel her warmth right beside him or have her curled into him, but of course there is a reason they're keeping their distance. Instead of lamenting the loss of familiarity, he decides to just be grateful they're doing this at all.

About halfway through the movie, he feels Ziva watching him. He initially acts oblivious but, eventually, cannot resist glancing over at her. She is rolling her lips, looking uncertain, and he soon figures out that she is wondering if she's allowed to rest her head on his shoulder.

Maybe she _should_ be uncertain; she did reject him. And maybe he should deny her his touch… but he doesn't.

In fact, he doesn't think twice before extending his arms and pulling her to him. She relaxes; he feels her smile through his shirt.

He hopes she knows that anytime she wants to be in his arms, she is welcome.

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Another week passes. Ziva gets cabin fever and comes back to work, and they are down to one empty desk. It's a relief, but it's nothing like three days later, when Palmer calls to say that Ducky has been cleared to travel and will be home the next day.

Just like that, the mood in the dreary office is vastly improved. Tony and Ziva, both beaming, gather around Gibbs' desk and listen to him give the news to Abby, who is still staying at the hospital with McGee. Her squeal causes Gibbs to wince and hold the phone away from his ear, but really, it's a good sound.

They manage to convince her that all of them showing up at the airport might be overwhelming for Ducky; eventually, she agrees to visiting at his house once Palmer has him settled in. After work on the day he arrives in D.C., the three agents head to the hospital to pick Abby up and have a quick visit with McGee, who the doctors have deemed unfit to accompany his team.

Their reunion consists mostly of sitting around in the living room and talking, as Ducky is tired and peaked and prefers to lay down. Still, it's good to have (almost) everybody back together; the time does pass quickly as they enjoy each other's company. Too soon, Ducky's sentences begin to drift off into light snores, and it is time to go. Team Gibbs drives back to the temporary NCIS offices. Tony and Ziva sit in the back and Abby, back to her usual self, chatters away in the passenger seat, and it is all so comfortingly, amazingly familiar.

That feeling transfers to his car when he and Ziva get in it to drive home, their hands brushing on the console the entire way, and then to his apartment, when they pop in a movie and she leans right into his side.

0000000000

Late that night, Tony wakes up with a dry throat. He stares at the ceiling for a while before forcing himself to get off the couch and stumble into the kitchen. With his eyes half-open he turns on the tap and holds a glass under the stream of water. As it fills, a sound penetrates his hazy consciousness; he immediately goes on alert, straining his ears, but all is quiet.

He is on his way back to the living room when he hears it again, and this time, he can tell that it's Ziva. It sounds like a whimper. _Is she crying?_

Abandoning his water on the coffee table, he walks briskly in the direction of his bedroom. "Ziva?" he calls softly as he pushes open the door. In the light of the streetlamps filtering through the window, he sees her lying on her back, her tear-streaked face turned away from him. "Ziva, what's wrong?"

"Go back to bed, Tony," she says, almost managing to keep her voice steady, but not quite.

He walks to her bedside and lightly touches her injured shoulder. "Are you in pain? Do you need some meds?"

It's a stupid question- physical pain does not make Ziva cry- but he can't think of any other reason she would be like this. She shakes her head and covers her face with her hand, and he is at a complete loss as to what to do next.

Eventually, he reaches down and weaves his fingers into her hair. At his touch she shudders violently, ejecting his hand from her body, and now he is scared.

"Tell me what's the matter," Tony pleads, leaning over and cupping her face in his hand, preventing her from hiding it.

Ziva's tears start coming fast, spilling out of the corners of her eyes and trickling into her ears. She is breathing raggedly; she would be unable to form a sentence even if she wanted to, but he is determined to wait it out. He strokes her cheek with his thumb while she retakes control of herself, and then he tries again: "Come on, Ziva."

Eyes dry but face still moist, she inhales deeply. "I told you that I do not want to live with regrets."

"Yeah." He remembers those words- and the sinking feeling in his stomach that preceded them, when she said that she was seriously considering marrying Ray- all too well.

"I fear that… I will regret…" Her bottom lip quivers the tiniest bit. "Telling you no. Because the truth is, Tony, I want to be with you, too."

He is floored. Flabbergasted. Completely caught off guard. Even though he had seen a hint of her also wanting to move the relationship forward the first, last, and only time they discussed it, he didn't expect her to admit it, and especially not spontaneously in the middle of the night like this.

He should be elated, but he isn't. That's because he expects what comes next.

"But it is not so simple as saying that _no,_ I cannot live without you and _yes, _I would like to be with you. There are things at stake. It might require a choice."

Tony shrugs, defeated. "Yeah, there are. And it would. For the record, though… I would choose you. Hell, I _have_ chosen you."

Ziva stares at him, speechless, and then she bolts upright. Placing her hand on the back of his neck, she leans in close and says, "Tony, no. Tony… I do not want you to be hurt by me."

Again he shrugs, eyes downcast.

"It has nothing to do with you," she says hurriedly. "Isn't that one of your movie lines? 'It's not you, it's me'? It _is_ me, Tony. There are things that would be difficult if we were to have a relationship, and I do not trust myself to handle them!"

"I trust you," he says, but without much conviction- he has long given up on anything he says making a difference.

"I know you do. You have… more faith in me than I have in myself."

"It shouldn't be that way."

"But it is." Ziva sighs deeply, her warm breath fanning across his face. "Can you blame me, Tony? You saw the man I almost agreed to marry."

He can't keep his eyes from snapping back to hers. The brown orbs are wide and sad, and they remind him of how much he hates CI-Ray's guts. "That wasn't your fault," he insists. "You couldn't have guessed-"

"I was trained to guess things like that, Tony."

"But you know what?" The conviction is back; it surges through him. It doesn't matter how she responds. She needs to hear this. "You aren't the soldier anymore. You aren't the Mossad assassin. You're the real Ziva now, Ziva the woman, and you decided to try and love someone. There's no place for training in that."

The silence that greets the end of his miniature monologue makes him fear that he crossed a line and is now about to be slapped or, even worse, given the cold shoulder. But no, she is not angry. Far from it.

"Tony," she whispers cautiously, "if I changed my mind… would you still want it?"

He isn't sure whether or not he's setting himself up for another rejection, but he answers honestly. "I'll always want it. I'll always want you."

**Ten chapters in, baby!**

**I'm not sure how many more there will be. At least five.**

**Thanks for all your support, guys!**


	11. Chapter 11

When he awakes the next morning- early; the sun has just started to rise- it is with a warmth inside and out of his body. Ziva is restricted to lying flat on her back because of her shoulder injury, but Tony is pressed up against her good side, his arm slung over her middle. Last time they shared this bed, he hadn't dared to hold her like this.

Things have changed since then, though.

Actually, things have changed since _yesterday_.

Last night had been a whirlwind. One moment, Tony was as hopeless as he'd ever been about convincing her to give their relationship a shot, and the next moment, he felt a glimmer of hope when she asked if he still wanted it. And after he responded that he always would, she looked him straight in the face, opened her mouth to say something, and then didn't.

She just kissed him.

He balked, but only because he hadn't been expecting it. Quickly he regained his wits (or, rather, as many as he could with her warm mouth pressed against his) and kissed her back. Although they held each other gently and the kiss was slow, it felt terribly passionate, and sitting on a bed in a dark room didn't help; in the end, it was probably Ziva's shoulder that prevented them from going further than they did. They were in the process of lying down when she shifted the wrong way and pulled away from him, gasping in pain, and immediately Tony's focus was on making sure she was okay.

That incident effectively killed the mood, but as he settled into bed beside her- with the intent only of sleeping- things were not awkward. He easily took her in his arms, and her head lolled onto his shoulder, and they drifted off, their breath mingling together.

Now here he is, waking up beside her on what must be the best morning after of his life, which is ironic, since there are no clothes discarded on the floor. It's less about what happened than who it happened with; it's her.

Finally, finally, it is _Ziva_.

He presses his face into her hair in what he thinks is a covert way, but she breathes in sharply and he feels her jerk awake. With a grimace he pulls away and looks into her wide open eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Ziva says, her hand drifting lazily across his chest. "Did you sleep well?"

Tony cannot fight the grin that finds its way to his lips. "_Very_ well. You?"

"I did." Her words are accompanied by a soft smile, her first of the morning. "I like this."

He doesn't need her to clarify what _this_ is; he knows. And he likes it, too.

Eventually, they do get up and prepare for work. First, however, there is a long interval of time during which they lay in bed together as if they don't have a care in the world.

0000000000

Like a grenade, their cares reappear and explode in the span of one second- the second in which they pull into the parking lot of the temporary NCIS offices and spot Leroy Jethro Gibbs disappearing through the front door.

"Oh, jeez," Tony groans as he parks in an empty spot and turns off the car. "I didn't even think about him." As ridiculous as it seems, it's true; he has been too caught up in Ziva over the past nine hours to spare a fear for what their boss would say. Now they are here, in the vicinity of rule number twelve, and Gibbs has proved to Tony that he will enforce it- or at least be extremely perturbed by an infraction of it.

"We do not need to say anything today," Ziva says. "Let's just act normal."

He knows what she means and where she's coming from, and he even knows that she is right. Still, he can't help feeling a little bit like he's been punched in the stomach. Turning toward her, he says quietly, "I don't want our normal to be what it has been. I want to create a new normal."

She smiles at him, and it feels like the world stops turning. _I am such a love struck idiot,_ he thinks as she places a hand on his cheek and his skin tingles.

"We _will _create a new normal, she reassures him. "We have already begun to. But not here. Not yet. I am not sure the others are ready. It has still only been three weeks since the bombing. Ducky just got home, McGee is in the hospital…"

Tony nods his understanding.

That balancing act between team and personal needs will continue.

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When they enter the MCRT's room, they are startled to find Abby in one corner, wrestling with a tall purple lamp as Gibbs looks on. Tony and Ziva both pause just inside the doorway. Their staring goes unnoticed.

"Uh, Abs?" Tony asks, dropping his backpack on his desk and walking up behind Gibbs. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I came in here with Gibbs for a little while after we went to Ducky's last night, and I couldn't believe how dark and depressing it is! So I dug out this old lamp for you guys; it was in my college dorm." She finally gets the lamp the way she wants it and holds up the plug. "Here we go!"

The three of them watch her plug the lamp in. The dusty light bulb flickers pitifully, and then burns out altogether. Abby frowns. "You guys got light bulbs around here?"

"If we do, I have no idea where they are." Gibbs kisses her on the cheek before sitting in his desk chair. "Thanks for trying."

"I'll bring some back later," she says stubbornly. "There will be light!"

On her way out the door, she gives all three of them a hug; once she's gone, Tony says, "She seems chipper."

"We're all on our way back to normal," Gibbs says, and the other two agents share a quick, loaded glance. The boss doesn't notice; he goes on to tell them that there are no cases and that yet another day is to be spent replacing paper files destroyed in the explosion. It's boring, mindless work, but at the same time, Tony finds it a bit therapeutic. After all that has happened, it's nice not to be dealing with death.

Paperwork also means relative quiet- Gibbs _is_ there, and he never puts up with their banter for long- which makes it a lot easier for Tony and Ziva to not do anything to give themselves away. The morning passes to the music of staplers and the copy machine and pencils scratching on paper, and their lunch break actually seems to come quickly. They walk to Tony's car with a good two feet of space between them, and even when he is driving out of the parking lot, they both keep their hands strictly to themselves. Once they have driven about a block, Tony says, "We're doing good."

"I agree."

"He's clueless."

"For now," she warns. "He _will_ find out."

He cringes at her tone. As they slow for a red light, he turns toward her and asks, "You aren't… you aren't gonna go back now, are you?"

Ziva exhales through her nose as if she is exasperated, but she is looking at him affectionately. She takes his face in her good hand and leans over the console. "Tony, listen to me. I am not going to play games with you. I am not going to yank you around. I decided I wanted this, too, and I will stand by it, come hell or Gibbs."

"You know that's not the phrase, right?"

She shrugs. "I know the phrase has the word 'hell' in it. And 'Gibbs' seems fitting, anyway."

"Fair enough," Tony says with a smirk. It only takes a couple seconds for the smirk to completely fade in favor of a more serious demeanor. "So we're really doing this?"

"We are really doing this."

Her affirmation causes his heart to lift again. He closes his eyes as she kisses him, and then he leans forward to kiss her nose for no reason other than it is there.

**YAY, SOMETHING GOOD HAPPENED.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

Tony and Ziva effortlessly fall into a new routine. He is taken aback at how easy it is for them to switch from awkward, forced companionship to couple. There is a lot of laughter and, on the flip side, a lot of sharing. Some of their conversations venture into territory that was formerly seldom touched, simply because now they are daring to let each other see the innermost regions of their souls. One night, it is childhood; the next, it is past loves. At first, they talk about their first relationships that mattered, but the conversation progresses and before he knows it, he's talking about Jeanne and the toll that case had taken on him and the guilt he harbored for months after it ended. He stops abruptly when he realizes that Ziva might prefer not to hear about something she had been close to, but she surprises him. She squeezes his knee, clears her throat, and says that she sometimes asks herself whose betrayal was greater: Ray's or Michael's. "I still cannot decide."

"Does it matter?" he asks. "I mean, neither one was all that _good_."

"No, it doesn't. Sometimes my mind wanders, though, and I try to make myself choose."

Tony nods. "Like asking yourself if you'd rather be blind or deaf."

A couple seconds pass in silence, and then Ziva starts laughing. He settles back into the couch cushions and just watches her for a moment, a smile playing on his own lips. "What an analogy for my past boyfriends," she says finally. "And it's _accurate_. We really are so romantically dysfunctional."

"Together."

She looks over at him. "Hmm?"

"We are romantically dysfunctional together," Tony clarifies, and then accepts her kiss.

That's another thing there is suddenly a lot of: kissing. Not more than that, since they have established that Ziva's shoulder can't take a whole lot of movement; even so, they are decidedly intimate with each other. There are quick kisses, but there are also long, heavy ones which leave them panting and breathless and hating the fact that they can't go further. At night, they huddle together in Tony's bed. Sometimes there is more talking and sometimes more making out; either way, they drift off to sleep in each other's arms.

And then they wake up in the morning and go to work and act like nothing is going on.

Maybe it's just because he knows he'll get all the time he wants with her later, but Tony finds it easier than he thought it would be to sit in a room with Ziva and keep his hands to himself. Both of them study Gibbs intently and discuss the state of their lie at the end of the day; they agree that they're doing a good job. And when they go to visit Ducky or McGee, their other team members also seem perfectly clueless.

For now, they have created a clear distinction between Team Gibbs World and Tony and Ziva World.

If only they could keep it up forever.

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At long last, McGee is released from the hospital. It's been a full five weeks since the blast; the July sun reflects harshly off of the wheelchair he is brought outside in. His skin, already pasty, has grown even pastier during his confinement, but when he sees the team waiting for him in a rented minivan, he grins and his color seems to come back.

Tony and Gibbs wrestle the wheelchair into the wayback while Ziva and Abby help McGee get in the passenger seat. It takes fifteen minutes and the help of an exasperated hospital security guard, but they get it done, and then they are on their way.

"So you aren't paralyzed, right?" Tony asks.

McGee rolls his eyes. "No, Tony. I'm just having some pain in my legs right now."

"Just making sure. Didn't expect for you to come out in a wheelchair." He sees Ziva looking at him and knows she hears the underlying concern in his voice. She also appears to be the only one who does.

At McGee's apartment, Ziva goes right to the kitchen to prepare dinner for him. Abby heads to the guest room to unpack her belongings because "of _course_ I'm not leaving you home alone in a wheelchair, McGee! Are you stupid?" This leaves the three men to sit in the living room with no idea what to do next.

"Bet it's weird being back here, huh?" Tony asks, running a hand over the typewriter. Beside it is what appears to be a half-finished manuscript. He quickly flips through it, but does not see the names Tommy and Lisa.

"Not weird so much. More like… an overdue reunion."

"Alright, McHomeward Bound. Don't get all poetic on me."

From his place on the couch, Gibbs sighs loudly. "DiNozzo. Shut up."

"Shutting up, Boss."

Clearly, the boss man isn't in the mood for conversation, which means that there is none until Ziva waltzes in with a plate of chili beans over rice. "McGee, does this taste okay to you?"

He takes a bite and makes a noise of approval. "This is a billion times better than hospital food."

After giving McGee a smile and a chaste kiss on the cheek, she walks over to the armchair Tony slouches in and sits on the ground in front of it, leaning back against his legs. He stops his hands halfway to rubbing her shoulders and slowly draws them back into his lap. A quick look at Gibbs reassures him that the action went unnoticed.

Then he looks at McGee. And McGee has definitely noticed.

The probie is frowning in confusion. Tony doesn't think he'll ask in front of Gibbs, but just in case, he gives an ever so slight shake of his head.

McGee returns his attention to his meal, and Tony slips his hands under his thighs so as to keep them under control.

After another hour or so, Abby decides that McGee needs to rest and gently but firmly ushers the others out the door. Tony and Ziva walk ahead of Gibbs, who hangs back to exchange a few words with Abby and give her a kiss on the forehead. He chastises himself for it, but Tony can't help bitterly thinking that _she_ is surely not getting a rule number twelve lecture.

The fact that it will be impossible to continue pretending the way they have been is really beginning to sink in. Whether it's because of a slip by McGee or simply his own intuition, Gibbs _will_ know. Tony considers the inevitable with dread; how will he and Ziva handle it?

What if Ziva handles it by insisting that they go back to being partners and friends?

The possibility scares the shit out of him. Convincing her to give being together a shot was hard, but he managed to do it, and _damn_, he has been so happy lately. So happy with her. If something were to mess it up now…

He just can't let that happen.

Late that night (really, it's early the next morning) they have yet to go to sleep; Ziva is settled into her corner of the bed, arm cradled by a pillow, and Tony is leaning over her. He breaks their fervent kiss in favor of planting kisses along her collarbone and up her neck. When he reaches her ear, he worries the lobe gently between his teeth; her low-pitched moan vibrates in her throat, where they can both feel it.

"Tony." The way she says his name makes his breathing grow a bit heavier, and he flicks his tongue out, only briefly allowing it contact with her skin. That's all he needs, though; Ziva gasps and arches slightly into him. "I will get you back."

"Go ahead," he says mischievously, but before she can decide her plan of action, he puts his mouth back against hers and whispers into it. "McGee is onto us."

"I noticed," she replies, surprising him, and quickly nips at his neck. With something similar to a squeak, Tony jumps back; Ziva tries not to laugh while she pats his cheek with her good hand. "McGee can keep a secret."

"Not forever." He curls up against her side, resting his head beside hers. "I'm starting to think we should just tell everyone. Rip it off like a Band-Aid."

Ziva is quiet, which scares him. The words _you said you weren't going to back out_ are on the tip of his tongue. But she doesn't.

When she finally speaks, it is on the heels of a long kiss she initiates, one which leaves him holding her close with all the strength and tenderness he possesses.

"I am ready when you are."

**I'm sorry this is late! I've been very busy the past few days, but there won't be this many days between chapters anymore, because I want to make sure the whole thing is up by September 25! (ONLY 12 DAYS!)**

**Thank you to everybody for continuing to read and support this story! You guys are amazing!**


	13. Chapter 13

It's rare these days for the entire team to be together. In fact, it technically hasn't happened at all since the bombing, as McGee and Ducky are both homebound and have yet to see each other. Breaking the news, therefore, will be an affair involving a maximum of three stops and a minimum of two, depending on whether Tony and Ziva tell Gibbs alone or not. And that, really, is the ultimate question.

"If we tell him while we're all at McGee's, he can't kill us. There'll be witnesses," Tony says helpfully while they lounge in the living room.

Ziva narrows her eyes at him. "Tony."

"Okay, sorry. Uh. Oh, I got it: we tell Abby, and then let her blab it to everybody."

"Tony!"

He sees that she is actually growing aggravated and forces himself to wipe the smirk off his face. "Sorry," he repeats, meaning it this time. Scooting closer to her on the couch gives him a better view of her pinched, bothered expression. "Why are you afraid of Gibbs?"

"I am not afraid of Gibbs!" she snaps, drawing back from him. "I told you. It is… _difficult_ for me to disobey him so blatantly, and I just want to make sure we do this the right way."

"Okay," Tony says slowly, holding up his hands in a 'whoa, Nellie' gesture. He isn't sure what set Ziva off, but her voice has become borderline hysterical and he feels that he should sedate her. (Which isn't actually an option here, unfortunately- it seems that he'll have to use good old-fashioned words.) "Okay. Look here. This is me, getting serious." He puts on an exaggeratedly somber face. "Now tell me what _you_ want to do."

She stares at him, arms crossed and tongue literally in her cheek, for several seconds. Then her shoulders slump, and Tony breathes out in relief, because she is calming down. "I want you and me to get Gibbs alone and tell him first."

_She really does want me to get head-slapped into Timbuktu, _Tony thinks. There are many, many things he would rather do than look into those steely blue eyes and confess to breaking rule number twelve.

But what choice does he have?

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Night has fallen by the time they show up at Gibbs' house. Of course the door is unlocked; Ziva pushes it open and steps into the dark foyer, Tony right at her heels. They look around the still house for a second, and then she asks, "Was his car outside?"

"Yeah," he answers, already on his way to the basement. "Must be boat time."

Sure enough, as they huddle at the top of the stairwell, the sound of wood on sandpaper drifts up to them. It continues without ceasing for an immeasurable amount of time, and then it suddenly does. "Come on down, whoever's up there," Gibbs calls.

Tony and Ziva exchange a look.

"Still time to run," he mutters.

"No," she replies, taking his hand and threading her fingers through his. "There is not."

And it is she who leads the way as they descend the stairs, she who is going into it headfirst, she who is clutching his hand and refuses to let go, even when Gibbs' eyes settled on his two agents.

In that moment, Tony falls even more deeply in love with her. How could he have entertained the notion that when the time to tell Gibbs came, she would put an end to this thing between them? Ziva has not lied to him. Not once.

Their boss is silent. His sandpaper lays abandoned on a work table and he has his arms crossed over his stomach, seemingly waiting for something. Apparently it takes too long for Tony to begin the process of forming words, because he speaks instead. "Knew we'd be having this conversation someday."

Ziva lifts her chin- no, she definitely is _not_ afraid of Gibbs She is only growing bolder. "We are not here for your blessing."

Gibbs shrugs. "I know. I know that if you've gotten this far, I can't stop you now."

The man is _psychic_, Tony realizes. All the shit he'd gotten in the hospital was Gibbs' attempt to slam the brakes on a speeding train.

Well, those brakes have given out.

"We did decide to tell you first," she says, "out of respect."

"Respect, huh?" He gets off his bench and pours another shot of bourbon. Ziva's fingers tighten around Tony's; Gibbs takes his sweet time consuming the alcohol. The boat frame behind him seems to tower over all three of them.

Finally, _finally, _Gibbs slides his glass away and says, "I'm not gonna sit here and tell you guys that you're making a mistake. It won't change anything, and hell- maybe you're not. I'm just gonna say that it's not the easiest thing _I've_ ever done, dating my partner."

"We don't care if it isn't easy," Tony answers, and catches himself before saying that he, at least, is in love. Ziva deserves better than to hear that for the first time in front of their boss. Instead he continues with, "That's not what we're in this for."

Gibbs nods slowly.

Tony can't stand the wait any longer. "Are you firing us?"

"Nope. Only warning you."

"Uh… that you're gonna fire us?"

"DiNozzo, I'm not firing you," Gibbs sighs. "Either of you. I just want you to be aware of the problems this could cause, and be ready to deal with them, no matter what the fallout is."

Tony looks at Ziva out of the corner of his eye and finds her doing the same to him. An understanding passes between them: _we are._

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Back in the car, Tony sighs deeply. "He didn't yell at us or fight us on it or anything… and I still feel like a kid who's been sent to the principal's office."

Ziva pinches the bridge of her nose, leans her head back. "Working with him in that tiny room is going to be awful."

"I wasn't expecting this," Tony admits. "I thought there was a good chance that he would be downright pissed. But he was like… almost… disappointed. And it was worse. Way, way worse."

Now it is she who sighs deeply. They are still parked on the street in front of Gibbs' house. It's not a smart place to loiter, but it feels as if they need some recovery time before they head back out. "I do not doubt for one second that he cares about us."

"I don't, either," he admits grudgingly.

"Perhaps this is his way of trying to protect us. He is not angry because it wasn't about the rules themselves in the first place. He is worried because he does not wish for either one of us to be hurt."

Tony purses his lips as he turns the key in the ignition. The car sputters to life, ready to take them away. And he is so ready to _go_ away. "Maybe while he's doing that, he should make sure he isn't getting in the way of something good."

Her hand intercepts his when he reaches for the gear shift. He waits, expecting her to say something, but she appears to be going for silent comfort.

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There are two more stops to be made, and they make them the next day, after a very uncomfortable eight hours with Gibbs during which less than fifty words are spoken. Tony does frequently lift his head from his work to find his boss openly staring at him. Not glaring, just _looking_. It's very unsettling and makes Tony squirm, which is probably the point.

After this, he and Ziva are tempted to go home and just make phone calls, but they know that their being together is no small deal and that their other team members also deserve to hear about it in person. Besides, Palmer has already called to say that Ducky is feeling good today and is up for the company. They end up going to see him first and are surprised when Abby opens the door.

"What're you doing here?" Tony asks.

"Well, hello to you too," the scientist quips, stepping back to let them in. "I decided it was time for Ducky and McGee to be reunited!"

Ziva raises her eyebrows, impressed. "You got him over here by yourself?"

"Yep!" Abby simultaneously goes into a long explanation of how she managed it and leads them to the living room. Once they turn the corner, she is interrupted by Ducky.

"Ziva! Anthony! What a lovely surprise. Come in, come in. What brings you here today?"

"Just thought we'd drop by," Tony says carefully, catching Ziva's eye. She nods, and he proceeds to make small talk, asking about everyone's day and, to Palmer, "the missus". There is discussion of health and married life and what working at NCIS looks like these days, and then, during a lull in the conversation, he decides it is time. Clearing his throat, he says, "We, uh- me and Ziva- we have something to tell you guys."

It's an unexpected remark, which is fairly obvious when the others turn their heads at the exact same time; eight eyes are suddenly trained on Tony. When he doesn't say anything else- what _should _he say? They hadn't needed to use words with Gibbs- McGee furrows his brow and asks, "Is everything okay?"

"Of course," Ziva says with a smile, coming to stand beside Tony. He relaxes when he feels her hand on the small of his back. "We just want you to know that we have decided to be… together."

The announcement is met with wide eyes and open mouths, but not a word. That is, until Abby exclaims, "Oh!" and flings herself at Tony. He wraps his arms around her in a grip much looser than the one she has on him. When she pulls away, he is shocked to find tears in her eyes.

"What is wrong?" Ziva asks, concerned.

"I'm so _happy_ for you guys," Abby sniffs. "You've been through so much, and you've always had each other's backs, and it's- I'm just so glad for you."

As she hugs Ziva ("Abby, careful, my arm") Tony sneaks a peek at the others. McGee looks befuddled (which, honestly, was to be expected), Palmer is beaming, and Ducky has the proud smile of one watching his grandchildren succeed.

He looks back at his partner- his _girlfriend_- and almost can't believe it when he sees moisture in her eyes, too.

**Just so you guys know, there are four chapters left, and the last one is scheduled to be posted on September 25.**

**Thanks so much for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

Tony lets that word slip again. Just like the first time, he can't help it; Ziva is staying in his apartment, and if that won't cause an overwhelming feeling of domesticity, he doesn't know what will. It comes right out- "What do you want to watch, babe?"- and is followed by quiet. Total déjà vu. He has been facing the entertainment center and she is behind him, so he can't see her face. As he starts pounding it into his own head that _she clearly doesn't like being called that_, a tan arm appears around his torso. Ziva rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.

When she says, "I do not care," he is confused for several seconds before remembering that he did ask her a question. The DVDs are lined up in front of him, but he makes no move to take one. It's hard to concentrate on anything besides her body pressed up against his, especially because he isn't entirely sure what the gesture means. "Tony, I get… I am happy in this relationship. Just now, you asking that question… it felt… good to be the one it was directed at. I love it here. But I hate how the dynamic at work is changing."

Two weeks since they came clean to the team. Honeymoon period is over. Not that things with Gibbs were ever exactly blissful; really, it's their other relationships within the team that are beginning to evolve into something strange. McGee is uncomfortable around Tony and Ziva now. They have made a conscious effort to stay away from public displays of affection, so he has never seen them so much as hold hands, but he still will not look either of them in the eyes. Even Abby is acting differently now; she spent a couple days at NCIS, in the icy silence that is the norm for Team Gibbs' work environment now, and then adopted a less extreme version of McGee's avoidance. The only people who willingly acknowledge and seem pleased with the relationship are Ducky and Palmer- the former because that's how he is, and the latter most likely because he's in love himself.

Tony sighs and turns around. Her good arm, the one she'd had around him, drops to her side. "I don't like it, either."

"Will it go away?" she asks, and he can't figure out if it's a rhetorical question or not. "If we keep going to work and staying focused on our job, will the others get used to it?"

He looks down into her face. This is what she had feared in the first place, and she had obviously been right to. _It might require a choice, _she had said, and, _I would choose you_, he had replied. That hasn't changed; it's still the truth. It will always be the truth.

They just might have to make it known a little sooner than they'd hoped.

"I really don't know," Tony answers honestly, reaching up to caress her cheek.

Ziva leans into his touch. "All I want is to emerge from this with our team intact."

As much as he wants to say that they will, it's a promise he can't keep. So he gives her one that he can. "We'll deal with it."

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Later that evening, he finds himself at Ducky's house. The bag of groceries Ziva had sent him to get lays abandoned in the backseat of his car as he walks up to the front door and knocks. While he waits, he looks back toward the street and notices that Palmer's car isn't there. An entire minute passes and Ducky has not come to let him in. Tony, trying to squelch his worry, finds a spare key under a flower pot. Just as he is about to unlock the door himself, it opens, and there is the doctor.

"Ducky," Tony breathes out in relief, sliding the key back into its hiding place.

"I apologize for the delay, my dear boy. I don't move as quickly as I used to." He stands back to let Tony inside. "Where is Ziva?"

"My apartment. I went to the store. Didn't tell her I was coming here."

Ducky moves toward an armchair and slowly lowers himself into it. He really is much more fragile than before the heart attack. He used to have an air of youthfulness about him. Now, he really looks his age. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that he has not lost his perceptiveness. "Anthony, you look troubled. Have the two of you succumbed to the inevitable lover's spat?"

"No," Tony replies. They are still standing in the foyer, and there are no more places to sit, but he feels that he needs some sort of support. He ends up leaning against the stairs' banister. "No, that's actually not happened yet. Uh, I'm sure it _will_- I mean, it's me and Ziva- but so far, it's been really good."

"Oh," Ducky says, drawing out the word as if he's just had a revelation. "In that case, I'm guessing this visit has to do with Jethro?"

"Yeah."

"He is not particularly thrilled about this development, correct?"

With a bitter laugh, Tony confirms it. "Correct. Which we expected, but now he's rubbing off on McGee and Abby. I don't think they're intentionally doing it, but me and Ziva are kind of being frozen out."

Ducky ponders this for a second. Then: "I would not worry about Abigail and Timothy. They are most likely struggling to come to terms with the fact that their team has changed, but I do believe that this will pass. As for Jethro… he cares about both you and Ziva."

"I know he does. And I keep telling myself that, but I'm starting to have a really hard time seeing it. If he cares… shouldn't he want us to be happy?"

The older man leans forward as if he has great news to share. "There is no doubt in my mind that deep down, he is cheering for you and Ziva."

"_Very_ deep down," Tony can't help adding.

Ducky looks amused. "No matter the depth, it has been buried."

"Under what?"

"There is a multitude of possibilities. Perhaps a protective instinct?"

The banister is digging into Tony's back. He stands, stretches, hears his bones pop. Considers what Ducky has told him. "He's being an unsupportive asshole because he's trying to protect us from ourselves."

"Eloquent you are not, Anthony. But yes, I suppose that could be it."

A little bit of his annoyance with his boss morphs into understanding. "In a way, I kind of see it," Tony says. "We are the king and queen of screwed up relationships. It makes sense that the two of us being in one together would result in World War III."

Leveling his gaze at the agent, Ducky asks, "Do you think it will?"

He thinks of Ziva. He thinks about everything he sees her do in a day- channel surf, read a book, make dinner, brush her hair- and the fact that he loves watching her. He thinks of her sleeping in his arms and the way she kisses him and how often she smiles lately.

Meeting Ducky's eyes, he says, "I'm gonna do everything in my power to prevent it."

**Hola. :D**

**You don't wanna miss the next chapter.**

**Just sayin'.**


	15. Chapter 15

**This chapter is the type of chapter that I affectionately refer to as "semi smut". It's actually not that, uh, mature, but there are a few details thrown in there that make me want to let you know ahead of time, haha.**

**Enjoy!**

"Tony, what are we doing?"

He turns away from the lasagna he's preparing and looks at her. She sits at the kitchen table, staring down at her hands- a pretty clear indication that she isn't talking about dinner. "What do you mean?"

"With this." Ziva gestures between the two of them. "How much longer can we be miserable half the time? How long before the misery takes over?"

Honestly, Tony has been wondering the exact same thing. Nothing at work is improving. Somebody- no, _he_ has to act.

Abandoning his limp noodles and ricotta cheese, he sits down beside Ziva. "We won't let it get out of hand."

"Tony, it _is_ out of hand. These are the choices I was talking about. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," he says, touching her cheek. "You remember what _I_ said?"

Ziva meets his eyes, and he knows that she does. He holds her gaze even as she whispers, "That you would choose me."

"And that I already have." Tony dares to lean forward and press his forehead against hers; her eyes slide shut. Both of them breathe heavier as their lips touch briefly. There is a pause, and then Ziva wraps her good arm around his neck, and their kiss is deep and powerful.

"Tony," she says huskily when she pulls away. "Remove my sling."

It takes a moment for his oxygen-deprived brain to catch up with her words, but the moment it does, he grasps her full meaning. "Ziva, no. I don't want to hurt you."

"My shoulder barely hurts anymore. It's mostly healed. Tony, you take it off for me when I shower and get dressed-"

"That's different. That's only for a few minutes and as soon as you're done, it goes back on." Tony stares her down. "I am _not_ taking it off so we can have sex."

Breaking free of his grasp, Ziva does a crude imitation of crossing her arms over her chest. It's actually impressive, considering that, against her wishes, one arm is still bound. She returns his stubborn gaze, and of course it is he who looks away first. He's weak.

Especially when it comes to her.

"I will not beg," she says calmly. "All I will tell you is that I choose you, too… and that I'd like to show it."

Tony is hit with a wave of emotion that he doubts he could fight even if he wanted to. He ducks his head and whispers, "Okay," against Ziva's neck, then proceeds to unhook her sling, slide it off carefully, support her arm with his hand until he knows that it's fine on its own.

He lifts her from the chair, steadying her while she settles her legs around his waist. They rediscover each other's mouths during the journey from the kitchen to the bedroom, and the frenzied, wild nature of that kiss directly contradicts the gentle care with which he lies her down on the bed.

Crawling on top of her and bracing his hands by her head, he redirects his kisses to her collarbone. She begins fiddling with his belt and zipper- using _both_ hands. Of course she would be able to use an arm that's been out of commission for months to make him crazy. It doesn't take long for her to start pushing his pants down off his hips and for their feet to get tangled as they then kick the pants to the floor.

Ziva threads her fingers in his hair and forcibly bring his lips back up to hers. His head stings where she pulls on the strands, but his adrenaline masks most of that, and anyway, he's busy sliding his hand under her shirt. Quickly he finds her breast; when he curls his fingertips around the edge of her bra cup, her body jerks.

"What?" he asks, afraid he's done something wrong.

"Nothing," she whispers, and presses her hips into his. "You… startled me."

"Oh, really?" Tony is smug, because honestly, there is good reason to be smug when you take Ziva David by surprise.

And then she flips them over and he's the one on his back, leaving no question about who has the upper hand here. Thick locks of dark hair form a curtain on the sides of her face and his, creating the impression that they are completely closed off from the rest of the world.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hello," she replies, and those are the last words they speak aloud.

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Afterward, she rolls away from him for only a couple of minutes, during which they both pant and attempt to get a grip on their heart rates, and then she rolls back over and settles against him with a contented sigh and a kiss to his chest.

Wary of breaking the serene quiet, he asks in a whisper how she is, if her shoulder hurts at all, and she replies that no, it does not. And then, as he runs his hand up her bare back and buries it in her hair, as she squeezes one of his knees with both of hers, he finds the words slipping out before he can think them through.

"I love you, Ziva," he says; half of a second later, he is worrying that she'll think this is just pillow talk, that in the morning light, he won't feel this way.

Another half second, and it's clear that she not only believes him, but that she felt the exact same thing he did when they made love, and so she understands. Craning her neck a little, she giggles into his, tickling his skin. "I love you too."

Soon, she goes to sleep, but he feels that he can't yet. His heart feels overly inflated, as if it is about to burst inside his chest. He keeps grinning without realizing it. Eventually, he remembers that there is a half-prepared pan of lasagna abandoned on the kitchen counter and figures that he should put it away, so he carefully slips out from beneath Ziva. After pulling on some boxers and sticking the pan in the fridge, he catches sight of the clock. It's a little after nine; it feels like yesterday that he was making dinner, but in reality, it has only been a couple of hours.

And Tony is wide awake.

What he wants is to go back to bed, to wrap Ziva back in his embrace, but there is a fire smoldering in his gut, and it's only growing. This, right now, right this _second_, is the time for him to act.

He goes back into the bedroom and pulls on pants, a shirt, a belt. He grabs his gun and badge. He leans over Ziva, who is still sound asleep, and kisses her on the forehead. "I'll be right back," he says. "I gotta go do something."

As she subconsciously shifts closer to him, he knows, without a doubt, that this is what he needs, wants, and has to do.

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Someday, Anthony DiNozzo will no longer be a special agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. He will no longer be under the direction of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Someday, his life choices are going to stare him right in the face, and the reasons for making them won't matter all that much. All that will matter is the consequences.

His fear tonight is that, if he continues on the path he is on, his consequences are going to be very lonely ones. He fears waking up alone, pouring one bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, not having anybody to celebrate his birthday with.

He fears screwing up, because that's all he has done in the past. He has a chance, a real _chance_ at a life with Ziva, and he physically hurts at the idea of looking back someday and wondering what could have been.

The second-to-last thing in the world that he wants is to lose his patchwork family… but the _last_ thing he wants is to lose her.

With all that in his mind, it's not a hard decision. Not at all. There is no hesitation, in his head or his heart or his gait, as he pushes open Gibbs' front door and makes a beeline for the basement. Not while he descends the stairs, clomping down them, unafraid to announce his presence. And certainly not when he looks right into Gibbs' slightly bemused face and says, "You win. I'll play your game."

The gun and badge are slid onto the table.

Tony gives a curt nod. Turns to leave.

Goes all the way back upstairs.

His former boss never says a word.


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm not going to work today," Tony says in the morning, and Ziva is incredulous when he tells her what he did. She's also a bit mad, but then she takes a deep breath and says that she doesn't have the right to be, because she had been considering doing the exact same thing.

He's amazed at how paralleled their thinking is.

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Tony has been unemployed for a week when there is a knock on his door and he opens it to find Gibbs on the other side.

"Uh, hey, Bo- hey," he stutters. Behind him, he hears Ziva approaching, and then her feet scuttling back out of the room. As she's now deemed herself well enough not to wear her sling anymore, she has continued going to work alone (though Tony insists on driving her- she can't even operate a motor vehicle when _both_ her arms are completely healthy) and reports that the tension in the room is gone and replaced with something like sadness. Gibbs is quiet and has asked her about his former senior field agent several times; she has warned Tony that he'd be paying them a visit.

"Can I come in?" Gibbs asks, and it's so uncharacteristic for him to ask permission that Tony stares for a full two seconds before stepping back and opening the door wider. The older man steps inside almost sheepishly. He looks smaller than usual. It's surreal.

Nobody says anything for a few beats, and then Tony asks, "Wanna sit?"

Gibbs nods and trails behind him as he leads the way to the living room. They sit across from each other, a good amount of space between them, and once again, Gibbs shocks Tony. "DiNozzo… I was wrong. I wronged you and Ziva."

The words are gruff; clearly, they're hard ones for him to say, and that makes sense. This is not an "I'm sorry", but it's damn close to one… and everybody knows how Gibbs feels about apologies.

Tony shrugs, ever the subordinate, and then remembers that he's not, that he is a man, an equal one. "Yeah. You did."

It appears that Gibbs is attempting to keep a scowl off his face, but to his credit, he succeeds. "Look," he begins, leaning forward, "you can come back. Your point's been taken."

In the heat of the moment, his quitting in dramatic fashion _had_ been to make a point, to himself and Ziva as much as Gibbs. Over the past week, however, he's had a lot of time to think, and he has come to the conclusion that his quitting was the best thing for everybody, including the team as a unit. Even if he hadn't felt the need to quit when he did, he is convinced that it would have happened anyway, that eventually, something would happen to force the issue.

Right now, that's exactly what he tells Gibbs. "Ziva and I dating and being on the same team just isn't going to work out. Everyone was miserable the entire time that was going on." He sighs. "I removed myself from the equation to fix it. It's fine."

Gibbs looks at him. "Will you be okay?"

And even though he doesn't know how or when, the answer is yes.

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McGee finally claims his temporary desk in the temporary offices. Now it's only Ducky who is still at home, and Tony finds himself spending more and more time with the medical examiner, because he is lonely and having minimal luck with the job hunt. He always brings a deck of cards with him, and as a result of these visits, he learns three new games he never knew existed.

Ziva is on good terms with the others, which is mostly a good thing, but it also makes him feel kind of left out. Things between him and the others are improving, but he doesn't feel as close to them anymore. He and Gibbs don't say much to each other; with Abby and McGee, he carries on conversations that are a bit too formal. According to Ziva, Abby cried when she was told that he had quit. He suspects that she understands why he did it but, deep down, is having trouble forgiving him.

As frustrated and stressed out as he is, there is one good thing going on: Ziva has officially, permanently moved in with him. Her clothes have taken over his closet and dresser, and there is seven-grain organic wheat bread alongside the white. There is bickering over space, which there is suddenly a shortage of, and an argument stemming from the fact that Ziva wants to pay the entire month's rent since he isn't working. In the end, she agrees to splitting the rent, and there is no room for disagreement in the way they make it up to each other.

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After three months of too many movies and too much watching the clock because he's lonely and wants Ziva to come home, he gets a call from an old buddy of his. Just like that_, _he is Detective DiNozzo again.

Always did have a nice ring to it.

Later that day, Ziva approaches him about inviting the team over to their apartment for Thanksgiving. It has become a tradition for them to spend it together, after all, and she insists that even though so much has happened, there is no reason for this year to be any different.

After he reluctantly gets on board, she smiles and pats his chest. "You should call everybody."

"What?" he asks, panicked. "Me?"

"Yes. They'll be happy to hear from you, Tony." His phone is lying on the dresser; Ziva picks it up and hands it to him. "I will be in the kitchen."

She leaves, and he is alone with a list of contacts.

As he plops down on the bed he contemplates whether to start with the potentially problematic invitations or the ones he knows will be accepted. In the end, he wimps out and calls Ducky and Palmer, who both enthusiastically thank him and say they'll be there. McGee sounds distracted when he answers; video game music plays in the background, so they get off the phone relatively quickly.

Abby's phone rings several times, and with each ring, his stomach tightens a little bit more. When she finally picks it up, her tone is that overly polite one he has grown way too accustomed to, and it maintains that stiff air. He steadily grows more frustrated until he accidentally blurts out, "Are you mad at me?"

"What?" She sounds surprised. "No."

"Then why are you acting this way, Abs? You talk to me and pretend everything's fine, but you can barely _look_ at me."

This is met with silence. He knows she knows it's true.

Tony stands up, runs a hand through his hair, starts to pace. All of this is getting so old. He's the one who sacrificed his job; they didn't have to sacrifice anything. Why can't they accept his choice and him along with it?

"You were so happy when Ziva and I started dating," he says softly. "What changed?"

"You quit."

His suspicions are correct.

"Abby, everything was messed up at work. I had to do it."

"We could have worked through it!" she insists, her voice wavering slightly. "It was kind of weird for everybody, Tony. I mean, you and _Ziva_… it was great, it's _still_ great, but we needed time to get used to it. If you'd waited a while…"

In his moments of regret, those moments where it seemed he'd never get another job, Tony had wondered about this. _If I'd waited. If I'd waited…_

But he always came to the same conclusion, the one he is sticking to: if he'd waited, nothing would have changed.

That's what he tells Abby now, adding that, "It's for the good of the team, too, Abs."

"No it's not," she sniffs. "Because you were _part _of the team, and now you're not here."

"I know."

"None of us can stand the new probie."

"That's what I heard. Listen, me and Ziva were wondering if you wanted to come over for Thanksgiving. Ducky and Palmer and McGee will be here, too… haven't called Gibbs yet…"

Abby pauses, a move he believes is deliberately designed to keep him in suspense. Then: "Is Ziva gonna make pie?"

"I'd imagine so."

"I'll be there."

As if there was _really_ any question as to whether she would say yes.

Then it's time for the call he's been putting off for forty-five minutes. As soon as he hears, "Yeah. Gibbs," he is off, rambling and tripping over his words and saying "I mean" a lot, until finally Gibbs interrupts. "I got it, DiNozzo. What should I bring?"

Gibbs brings rolls, Ducky prepares a turkey (with Palmer and Breena's help), McGee buys expensive wine, Ziva makes pies, Abby is happy, and Tony thinks that it's way better than any Thanksgiving they've had before.

**Epilogue on Tuesday!**

**WE ARE SO CLOSE TO SEASON TEN, GUYS!**


	17. Epilogue

**I know I said I was going to post this tomorrow, but I've decided to go ahead and put it up tonight, because if I wait until after school tomorrow, that's only a few hours away from the premiere. And at that point, we're all gonna be way too excited to read fic. ;)**

**So. Here it is. The epilogue. I just wanted to let you guys know how incredibly grateful I am for all of your support for this story. Honestly, it's flattering. Every single follow, like, review, favorite, whatever, is so appreciated. You guys are completely awesome, and I wish I could give you all hugs! But since I can't do that, I hope this chapter makes it up to you.**

Before he knows it, they're a month away from the first anniversary of the bombing. It feels as if the preceding year has flown by, which is ironic, because Tony has experienced a lifetime's worth of change. His shift from agent back to cop- difficult at first, but more comfortable now- is the least of them. The greatest difference is in himself and the fact that he finally stopped being terrified and took a chance on something he has wanted for so long that he isn't even sure when it started anymore.

And now that he's gone this far, he's got one more risk in mind.

Usually he and Ziva prefer to stay in rather than go on actual dates, but tonight, after having dinner at a restaurant, they find themselves walking hand-in-hand along the Potomac. It's chilly by the river, so they huddle into their windbreakers and each other while D.C. looms in front of them.

They come to a place that is far from anybody else and somewhat removed from city noise. Tony stops, turns his back against the railing, pulls her close to him. She slips her arms around his waist and nestles her head into his shoulder. "Well, hello," she teases.

"Hey." His response is more breathy than hers because he's getting nervous and his heart is speeding up. After walking for half an hour, he's found the perfect spot. There is nothing left to check, to plan, to take care of. It's time.

_Do it._

_Do it._

_Do it now._

_Okay. On the count of three. One… two… three._

He doesn't move. In fact, he tightens his hold on Ziva, for his own comfort more than anything. Seeming to notice that something is amiss, she draws away just enough to see his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

One of her hands slips into his back pocket, and he can feel the testosterone start up, knows that if he doesn't pull it together _right this second_, he's going to get too caught up in her to focus on what he needs to say.

Tony reaches back to grasp that hand, then takes her other one. She steps away, allowing their arms to extend between their bodies, and cocks her head to one side as she watches him. "Are you sure?"

Instead of replying, he raises their entwined fingers and presses hers to his lips. A smile graces Ziva's face. "I'm gonna talk now. Hear me out, but if you think I'm crazy or this is too sudden or whatever… just say so, and I won't push. Okay?"

Brow furrowed in confusion, she nods. "Okay."

"There's only one thing I can say with absolute certainty that I want for the rest of my life, and it's to be with you. You're my partner and my best friend and… I can't even start to describe it. You're just my _everything_, and I know that you always will be."

Releasing her hands, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the box containing the ring he spent two hours picking out. He goes down on one knee, shaking fingers struggling to open the box. Once he gets it, he looks up into the stunned face of the woman he's completely in love with, and the words fall right out of his mouth. "Ziva, will you marry me?"

"Yes," she says immediately. "Yes. Yes." Her voice breaks and she can only watch wordlessly as he slips the ring onto her finger. And then he stands, hugs her to him, kisses her face again and again. He's never gonna let her go.

0000000000

"That a ring?"

Clearly it is, but Ziva knows that the question is more loaded than it appears on the surface. She has been waiting all morning for him to notice the sun shining through the repaired windows of the (original) NCIS headquarters and glinting off of her hand. More than once, she has purposely turned the ring in his direction, hoping he will bring it up and she won't have to. It surprises her that it took him this long- although, now that she thinks about it, perhaps he was only waiting for McGee and the obnoxious probie to get out of the bullpen.

"Yes," she answers, showing it to him. "Tony proposed on Saturday."

Gibbs nods, and then, to her immense relief, he smiles. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." Ziva finds herself grinning back at him. Then she thinks of her fiancé, currently at work with a team that isn't theirs. "Gibbs, you should give Tony a call. He would like to hear from you."

Her boss exhales, opens his mouth to say something, but Vance chooses that moment to emerge from MTAC and demand Gibbs' presence there.

Ziva watches him go up the stairs and wonders why he and Tony are still so cautious with each other.

Men. Honestly.

0000000000

Tony is packing up to go home when his cell phone rings. Other cops are still working, so it's loud; he presses the phone to one ear and plugs the other with his hand. "DiNozzo."

"It's me," says Gibbs, the last person Tony expected to call him. They aren't on the outs, not anymore, but neither one of them feels any need to have just-because chats. Before he can ask what's up, Gibbs continues. "Saw Ziva's ring. How much did that thing cost you?"

Surprised, he doesn't say anything for a moment, and then he starts to laugh. Real, unsuppressed laughter. "Enough," he finally answers.

"Well, you must've done good, 'cause she spent all day staring at it."

He feels immensely (and probably irrationally) pleased with himself.

"Listen," Gibbs continues. "Just want to tell you that I'm happy for you guys. And I'm also really damn proud."

"You're proud?"

"Yeah. I haven't made things easy on you two, but you made it work anyway. You did what I wasn't able to do. Marry her and be happy, Anthony. You've earned it."

"Thank you," he says hoarsely, because suddenly, he can't summon more volume than that.

"And… I hope you want me there."

Actually, Tony knows for a fact that Ziva is going to ask Gibbs to walk her down the aisle. He keeps that information to himself, though; it's her surprise. "We do."

"Good."

For the billionth time in the past forty-eight hours, a surge of joy appears suddenly and overcomes Tony. "I still can't believe she said yes."

There might just be a smile in Gibbs' voice when he says, "I can."


End file.
